Out of the Ashes
by JoeyStar
Summary: New powers can be dangerous. New powers can be unpredictable. New powers can change the shape of your life. In theory, Chris Halliwell knows all this, but he's about the find out the hard way just how true it can be.
1. Chapter One: Chris

**A/N: **This is my first Charmed fanfic and I thought I'd try something different with this story. Each chapter is going to be told from the perspective of one of Piper's children, starting with everyone's favourite neurotic little freak: Chris. I'm using the canon that's been established in the TV show and the season 9 comic series, although as I started writing this about a year ago there might be small discrepancies by now. Hopefully you'll forgive them!

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><p><strong>Chapter One - Chris<strong>

Chris Halliwell was having a lousy day.

It hadn't started well. Still half asleep, he'd managed to smash his alarm clock against the wall with an accidental burst of telekinectic orbing. The clock he wasn't fussed about, but the dent in the wall was going to be harder to explain. The last thing he needed was another lecture about self-control and extra lessons with his Aunt Paige.

The great alarm clock debacle had made him late down to breakfast – something that didn't go unnoticed – and resulted in a mad dash to school. Consequently Chris had stumbled into homeroom as the bell went, flustered, hair a mess and his math homework sitting forlornly on his desk at home.

After double gym – always a riot of male bonding and communal showers – he'd had to explain the lack of homework to Mr Perkins, the monster of the math department, who hated anyone under the age of 60. Hunchbacked and half-blind from squinting at chalk boards for the last thousand years, he looked like a shoe-in for being a card-carrying member of the demonic community. Chris had even gone so far as to sneak into the teacher's lounge and spike Perkins's coffee, but there'd been no resulting fireworks. He was a sadistic bastard sure, but not actually a spawn of the Underworld.

Still it hadn't come as much of a surprise when he'd rejected Chris's I've-done-the-work-it's-just-at-home excuse and sentenced him to a month's detention. His parents were _really_ going to be impressed with that one.

Biting back an overly dramatic sigh at the unfairness of it all, Chris pushed the double-doors open and stepped out into the sunlight. The quad spread out before him like a drawing in a picture book, with tables full of happily chatting kids backed by the rich green of the football field and a shimmering blue sky. It was so at odds with Chris's mood that he pulled a face, convinced the world was conspiring against him.

"Keep it that way too long and your face will stick," a mocking voice said.

"Yeah, well it would almost be worth it."

The curly-haired girl who'd materialized beside him threw an arm around his shoulders. "What is it _this_ time?"

"Perkins is a jerk," Chris replied around a mouthful of Emily's frizzy hair. "And the sun's too bright. I'm hot."

"Well that's what you get for wearing so much black." She took his arm and began dragging him down the steps. "C'mon grumpy boy, move it along."

Chris went willingly enough and Emily deposited him in an unoccupied chair on the far side of the quad. The table's other occupant, a dark-skinned boy, was tucking into a mountain of fries.

"Hey man." The boy waved a fry in greeting. "You looked particularly pissed. Trent giving you a hard time again?"

"You know, I actually haven't had the pleasure of his company today." Chris resisted the urge to do a quick scan of the quad and amused himself by reaching across the table and stealing a fry instead. "Maybe his abnormally large head got stuck in his locker."

"Nah, the world wouldn't be cruel enough to have that happen without us there to watch," Devon pointed out with an easy grin.

"True."

"Sorry to spoil the party boys, but the flamingos are descending." Emily nodded her head back towards the steps. "And _there's_ our favourite juvenile delinquent."

Now Chris did look – he couldn't help it. The double doors had opened again and a sea of varsity jackets spilled out. They bunched around the steps, laughing and goofing off, and generally managing to draw as much attention to themselves as possible. Standing head and shoulders above the rest – mainly because he'd laid claim to the top step – was a guy with perfectly styled dark hair, handsome features and a bright, easy smile. Warren Trent in all his glory. As they watched he grabbed the blond guy standing next to him and pulled him into a headlock. The blond pushed him away, laughing.

"I've never understood how your brother could be friends with someone like Warren," Emily commented idly.

Chris shrugged. "Wyatt never did have great taste."

"Well _that's_ obvious." Emily wrinkled her nose. "Melissa Reynolds, Cristi Ellis, Tonya Jenkins…"

"Abby Cole," Devon threw in helpfully.

"Ooh good one – I'd almost forgotten her. And of course, the latest flavour of the week: Helena Washington." She paused, then added thoughtfully, "Bitch."

"You always say that," Devon told her.

"And I'm always right."

Devon muttered something that sounded like "jealous". Emily rolled her eyes at him. "No, just honest. She pulled my hair in pre-school and stole my Barbie."

"You had a Barbie?"

"Yeah so I wasn't so fussed about that, but have you seen how much hair I've got? Pulling it frigging hurt. Bitch."

"Totally jealous," Devon said to Chris, stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah – hey, Devon? You wanna change that record? It's been broken for years."

"You're saying you don't fancy him?"

"I'm saying he's Wyatt Halliwell." She tossed a cloud of curly hair back over her shoulder. "I don't wait in line for _anyone_."

For all her bluster, Chris had long suspected that if she'd had a chance, Emily would have been at the head of that queue. It was a bizarre flaw in her otherwise excellently eccentric character. Then again, it wasn't like she was alone. Wyatt Halliwell was tall, blond and captain of the football team. Loved by girls, envied by guys, he was the poster-boy for the American teen. Mr Perfect. Captain Popular. Of course he was also quite possibly the most powerful witch on the planet, capable of levelling the school with the flick of one finger, but even if everyone here had known that, they'd probably all still love him. Everyone always loved Wyatt.

"You know, I'm sure Chris'd put in a good word for you, huh, Chris?"

"Well, sure, I would, but as that would involve actually talking to my brother, I'm thinking… no."

They watched as Wyatt and his friends descended on a pair of tables that had been left empty for them, joking and jostling for positions. A willowy brunette in a cheerleader's outfit emerged out of thin air and draped herself over Wyatt, twining her hands around his neck.

"God what it is with people popping up whenever we say their names?" Emily complained. "Oh for fu– do they have to do that in public?"

Wyatt and Helena Washington had started kissing. It was like a car crash. They couldn't look away. Emily started making obnoxious kissing noises. Devon continued to happily munch his fries and it was left to Chris to poke Emily in the arm. "Knock it off."

She turned on him, lips smacking together. "You want some of this?"

"In your dreams."

Emily raised one eyebrow. "You wish."

Chris didn't have a sensible answer for that so he just raised an eyebrow back. They stared at each other, unblinking. Chris's eyes began to water and he narrowed them. Emily narrowed hers back. Chris's left eye started to twitch. Emily's mouth twisted and she bit her lip. She was struggling, she was tiring, if he could just –

A hand landed on his shoulder and Chris looked up into the smirking face of Warren Trent. He tensed – and then hated himself for it. Truth was, he wasn't scared of Warren. Not really. After years of fighting demons and risking his life on a daily basis, Warren's threats didn't carry much weight. But there was just something about having the school's star linebacker looming over you that set his nerves jangling. It was happening more and more lately too; like a dog with a bone, Warren didn't seem to be able to let go.

"Hall-i-well," he drawled, drawing the syllables out. "Been a while. Anyone would think you're avoiding me."

"Now why would I feel the need to do that? I enjoy our little encounters _oh so much_. In fact, I was just saying to my friends here –" Chris waved a hand in Emily and Devon's direction " – that I'd missed your company."

"Always the smart-ass." Warren's smile turned cruel. "How's that working out for you?"

"Oh you know, has its moments. So, what'll it be today? A little trading of insults capped off with a punch in the face? Or shall we just skip to the big finale – ooh, I could cry!"

Warren took the empty seat next to Chris. "How about we just have a friendly chat about why Ryan Westwood just asked me if we'd broken up."

"We've broken up? Why didn't I know about this… is this – is this why you haven't been around to the house in so long?" Chris shot a look at Devon and Emily. "Did _you _know about this?"

"Ryan Westwood was laughing at me. _Ryan Westwood_." Warren picked up a discarded plastic fork and started scraping it back and forth across the metal table top. The scratching sound was distracting. "Ryan Westwood does my homework. Ryan Westwood buys my lunch. Ryan Westwood does _not laugh at me_."

"Wow, Ryan's opinion sure means a lot to you… wait, is that it? Are you breaking up with me because of _Ryan_ – agh!"

Warren drove the fork into the back of his hand with such force that the plastic handle cracked. Tiny beads of blood welled up and Chris watched as they trickled down his white skin onto the table.

Warren leaned close. "You think this is so _funny_. Just a game. But this isn't a game, Halliwell. People are saying that I – that I'm like _that_. They believe it! So you're going to shut your mouth and do what I tell you. If I want you to fetch something from my locker, you'll do it. If I want you to do my math homework, you'll do it. If I want you to lick my boots, _you'll do it_. Or I will hurt you so badly that you'll be spending the rest of the semester in a hospital bed." He smiled. "Do we understand each other?"

Chris bit the inside of his cheek to try and counter the pain. "Not very smart there, Warren, threatening me in front of witnesses," he gritted out. "Not normally you're style either. You're more of a darkened, deserted corridor kind of guy. Hey, maybe that's where the rumour came from –"

"The rumour came from your smart mouth," Warren hissed, pressing hard on the fork. "And this is the end of it or –"

Chris brought his face within kissing distance of the other boy. "You don't scare me," he whispered. "You don't scare me so you can't control me. Drives you mad doesn't it? And you just can't let it go. You have to pick, pick, pick. You spend all your time thinking about me. Obsessing. Denying your true nature. So c'mon, let's knock this sexual tension on the head." With his free hand he swept the table clear, sending Devon's tray of fries tumbling to the floor. "Let's do it right here on the table."

People at the surrounding tables were beginning to watch them now. Whispers were flying as more and more heads turned. Anger flared in Warren's eyes, but he was powerless to act. Walk away and he'd look weak. Linger too long and he risked drawing more unwanted attention and fuelling the fire of an already explosive rumour.

"That was stupid move, Halliwell," he said finally, before grinding the fork into Chris's hand one last time and then striding back towards his football cronies.

Chris thought about just letting him go, but he could never resist having the last word. So Warren wouldn't be able to hear it, and there was the whole "person-gain" issue, but… what the hell. Yanking the fork free, he covered his mouth with his hand and muttered a quick spell under his breath.

Warren was moving through the middle of a sea of tables when he suddenly stumbled and lurched to the right. Tripping over the leg of a chair, he sprawled across one the tables, knocking two freshman girls flying. When the tangle of arms and legs finally sorted itself out, there was lettuce and spaghetti in Warren's perfectly coifed hair and a smear of some kind of sauce down one cheek.

Laughter rang out, brilliantly loud in the sudden silence. Warren scrambled upright, brushing bits of food off his clothes and shaking his head like a wet dog. His face was bright red and he scanned the crowd, looking for something. When his eyes met Chris's, the younger boy blew him a kiss.

Beside him, Emily snorted.

"What?"

"You've got a total death wish."

"It's just my daily exercise." Chris rubbed the back of his hand. The four small holes left from the fork had stopped bleeding but he couldn't deny they hurt like hell. "Keeps my brain sharp."

"So you piss him off and it's my fries that suffer? How's that fair?" Devon moaned, disappearing under the table as he tried to salvage his lunch.

Chris coughed. "Yeah, uh, sorry about that. Casualty of war."

"You'll be a casualty of war if you're not careful," Emily informed him bluntly.

"She's right, man," Devon chimed in, voice muffled. "No offence, but when it comes down to a fight –"

"_When _it comes down to a fight?"

"Chris, you've made the whole school think he's gay. It's gonna get ugly." Emily dragged a thick notebook out of her bag and flipped it open. Hundreds of doodles filled each page, bracketed by what looked vaguely like class notes. It was hard to tell; those pages were almost as covered in doodles as the others. "And then Warren'll squash you like a bug."

"Wow, thanks for the pep-talk. It was real… inspiring."

Emily flipped him off and then nudged Devon. The black-skinned boy jerked and there was dull thumping sound from beneath the table. When he emerged he was rubbing his head. "What'cha do that for?"

"I'm adding insult to injury. Or injury to insult. Whatever. The point is, Chris, we think this has gone too far and you should tell Wyatt."

"Hey, I never actually said that," Devon protested.

"Alright, _I_ think you should tell Wyatt."

Chris looked back and forth between them. "And… why would I want to do that?"

"Self-preservation," Emily said promptly.

Devon ran a hand over his short-cropped dark hair. "She's got a point man. The way he was just talking –" He shook his head. "Pretty intense."

Emily held up her pad. On it she'd drawn a ladybug wearing a top hat being crushed by a giant, comedy hammer. Thoughtfully the ladybug was wearing a name-tag. Chris knew she was only messing around, but somehow it irritated rather than amused him. He felt his brief bout of good humour fading.

Devon squinted at the picture. "Why's it wearing a top hat?"

"Why not?"

"Um… it's weird. Like putting a dog in a wife-beater or something."

"You know, that's not such a bad idea." She scribbled a little more. "How's that?"

Ladybug Chris had now been joined by a muscular Alsatian in a sleeveless top. The dog stood in a heroic pose between the trembling bug and threatening hammer, arms on hips and chest puffed out. There was no name-tag this time, but the metaphor was impossible to miss.

"Great, that's just great." The words twisted in Chris's mouth, coming out sour and angry. "So you think I should go running to my big brother?"

Devon and Emily exchanged a glance and Devon shrugged. "It's your choice, man. But if Wyatt knew what was going on –"

"He could sweep in and save the day? I don't need Wyatt's help. I can handle Warren myself," Chris insisted, voice rising.

"Calm down, Drama Queen. We're not suggesting –"

"Yeah you are. God, what am I – twelve? I can sort out my own problems!"

"Alright, alright – subject closed." Emily slumped back in her chair, arms folded across her chest. Chris narrowed his eyes at her, but she just stared back insolently. "Just don't think I'm going to scrape your sorry ass of the sidewalk once Warren's through with you."

"Emily – case closed, remember?" Devon reminded her half-heartedly.

"Mmm."

Chris pulled his bag into his lap and yanked his lunch out with more force than necessary. Emily had been needling him about Warren Trent for weeks. So had Devon, but more subtly. And this wasn't the first time Wyatt's name had come up.

Perfect Wyatt with his perfect hair and perfect friends and perfect football average. Sometimes Chris just wanted to punch him in the face. Other times he wanted to transfer schools so he didn't have to put up with all the inevitable comparisons and inevitable disappointments when his teachers discovered he wasn't a carbon copy of his older brother. He idly wondered if Wyatt realised how hard his legacy was to live up to. Probably not. Wyatt wasn't the most observant of guys. And Chris wasn't gonna tell him. Just like he wasn't going to tell him about Warren.

Chris could handle Warren himself.

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><p>Chris plunged into the cool evening air with a sigh of relief he could feel all the way down to his toes. It felt like he'd just been released from prison. The hour he'd spent in detention with Perkins had been slow and tortuous to say the least, but now it was over and he had a whole day before he got locked up with the little troll again.<p>

The school was pretty deserted at this time. Only a handful of cars idled in the parking lot and as he drew closer, one of those pulled away and disappeared down the road. Wyatt was supposed to be giving him a lift home and would probably expect him to be waiting here… but Chris felt like wandering instead. Maybe he'd meet his brother on the way. Maybe not.

Chris had never had a problem with darkness and silence, not even since he'd found out that there really were monsters lurking out there, waiting to strike. It was a little bit reckless – his mom would probably have a heart attack – but Chris liked the solitude. Out here, away from everything, he could just be himself. Not a witch, not a Whitelighter, not a son of the Charmed Ones. Just Chris.

And hey, being able to orb away to safety any time he wanted wasn't a bad escape clause.

He circled the main school building, heading back towards the football field and athletics track. There was a low wall running alongside the path and Chris stepped up onto it, balancing like an acrobat on a tightrope. He followed the wall as far as it led and then jumped down, rounded the corner of the science block – and stopped.

There were three figures blocking the path, their faces washed out by the harsh electric lights from the school. All three were wearing football jackets and the two in the back started nudging each other when they saw him.

So… football practice must have finished then. Either that or they'd stolen off early. Still, it wasn't hard to work out why three of the team's star players were loitering behind the science block, preparing for a little post-practice fun. This was revenge for standing up to Warren. Humiliating him. Emily and Devon had been right – Chris had finally pushed things too far.

He briefly wondered how they'd known he was going to be here… and then the answer came to him. Wyatt. His brother had probably given them the information with a big, dumb smile on his face.

Warren took a couple of slow steps forwards. A cigarette dangled carelessly from one hand. Chris's pulse was racing as he weighed up his options. Any sensible person would have turned and run. The odds were stacked against him and there was nothing to be gained from sticking around and having his face pounded in. So what if it made Warren insufferable? At least Chris would be all in one piece.

And yet… he didn't move away. He just stood there and let Warren approach. Not because he was scared, no, nothing so basic as that. But because turning and running would have meant sacrificing something far more important.

His pride.

He couldn't let Warren win. He just couldn't. Even as part of his brain was screaming that he was an idiot, a reckless grin was spreading across Chris's face and words were spilling out of his mouth. "Aw, you coming to walk me home, Warren? You _do _love me after all!" He looked beyond Warren. "Not sure where Jake and Austin fit into things… unless we're talking a foursome? No offence guys, but that's not really on the cards. You see, _I _likegirls."

"You made me look like an idiot today, Halliwell," Warren said softly, blowing out a cloud of smoke and then taking another drag. "I warned you what would happen if you kept opening your mouth."

"Is this about the face-plant? Because, sadly, that had nothing to do with me. _Classic _moment though. And a surprisingly good look for you. Have you ever thought about –"

He saw Warren's blow coming before it fell and jumped backwards. The older boy's knuckles grazed his cheek and once again Chris teetered on the edge of fight or flight. This was crazy. Completely mental. Why was he still here? Was his pride really worth getting hurt over?

"Oh so this is about the shag on the table thing then, is it? Sorry Warren, I was only joking. Like I said – _I _likegirls."

"So do I, you little bastard," Warren spat, dropping his cigarette and directing a second blow at Chris's stomach. "But thanks to you everyone thinks –"

So he'd finally worked it out. Chris grinned savagely, twisting to the side so the blow glanced off his ribs. It still hurt, but at least he remained on his feet. "Warren, we've talked about this before. It's important to be honest with yourself. Really, I was just doing you a favour –"

"Shut your mouth!" Warren shouted, shoving him hard. Chris fell back against the wall of the chemistry lab, banging his head. "You made everyone think I'm – I'm like _that_. They're all laughing at me. At me. At _me_. _No one_ does that. Did you really think I'd just let it go?"

Before he could regain his balance, Warren was on him. A couple of well-aimed punches to his stomach had Chris wheezing and doubling over in pain. Then Warren jerked him up and slammed him against the wall, jamming his arm against Chris's windpipe. Chris fought to free himself but Warren was just too strong.

"What, nothing to say? Where are all your clever words now, smart-ass?"

"You told me to shut my mouth," Chris gasped out. "I thought I'd indulge you by following orders for once."

Another blow to his gut had Chris hanging limply in Warren's grip. The other boy was so close he could feel Warren's breath on his face. The sharp smell of tobacco made him feel ill.

"You think you're _so_ special with all these – these clever little retorts and innuendos. Spreading stupid rumours. Well you're not. You're not smart, you're not special – you're just like all the others. Pathetic. Weak. Scared. And I'm going to –"

Chris laughed breathlessly. "I told you earlier – I'm not scared of you."

The words threw Warren off balance. Taking advantage of his surprise, Chris kicked out as hard as he could and caught Warren in the fleshy part of his thigh, knocking him backwards. Free from Warren's hold, Chris fell hard onto his hands and knees. He shook his head to try and clear it. Maybe it was time to sacrifice pride for self-preservation. He'd said his piece, pissed Warren off – his work here was done. Yeah, probably time to beat a hasty retreat while Warren was busy whimpering like a baby –

Hands grabbed his arms and hauled him roughly to his feet as Chris realised what he'd forgotten.

Warren's silent shadows, the drones to his queen bee: Jake and Austin.

They pinned him against the wall as Warren limped forward. Chris struggled, but it was useless; these guys weren't football players for nothing.

"You say you're not scared? Well I'll make you. I'll make you scared," Warren promised, and there was something chilling about the look in his eyes. Like all sense of reason had left the building. "How about this? Are you scared now?"

The blow took him high in the chest and before Chris had a chance to recover, it was followed by another that snapped his head back.

"Are you scared yet, smart-ass?"

Another punch, into his gut this time.

"Or how about… _now_?"

And so it continued. Faster and faster and faster. Chris refused to give Warren the satisfaction of seeing him buckle and kept his eyes to the ground, biting clean through his lip to keep himself from crying out. The blows got harder and harder, blood filled his mouth and he ended up hanging helplessly in Jake and Austin's grip.

Warren grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. "Are you scared yet?"

It was stupid, it was reckless and he should have kept his mouth shut. But something primeval in Chris rose up in the face of Warren's cruelty. Something deep and dark and defiant. He met Warren's gaze and forced a cocky smile onto his face. "I will never be scared of you. Frustrates the hell out of you doesn't it? Not knowing why. Trying to figure out why I won't just bow down and take your shit like everyone else. That's the real reason why you keep coming back, time and time again. But you know what, Warren? No matter what you do that's _never_ going to change. I don't care who you are, or what position you play or how pretty your face is. Because to me, you're _nothing_." He spat of mouthful of blood in Warren's face. "You're not even worth my time."

"Not even worth – _not even worth –_" The veins were standing out in Warren's neck, like Bruce Banner right before he changed into the Hulk. And the look on his face – beneath the specs of blood it was more inhuman than any demon. "I'll show you what I'm worth, Halliwell. _I'll show you what I'm worth you little bastard!"_

He pulled out a knife. It was one of those army switchblade ones, but it was still a knife and Chris stared at it, his brain screaming at him to wake up and get the hell out of there.

"You watching?" Warren shouted, grabbing him by the neck of his shirt and pulling him close. Chris twisted his face away. "You watching this, smart-ass? _You seeing what I can do_ _to you_?" He pressed the knife against Chris's cheek. "Shall I cut up _your_ pretty face? Or maybe your smart-ass mouth?"

"Hey, Warren – I think he's had enough, yeah?" one of the drones said nervously. "We should go."

"Or maybe, _maybe_ I'll just stick this right in your belly. And twist it around. Maybe then you'll finally understand how this works."

"Warren –" The other began.

"Shut up, _just shut the fuck up_!" Warren ripped Chris away from Austin and Jake, and dragged him backwards. The knife pressed painfully into Chris's ribs. Austin made to follow, but Jake caught his arm. "_All of you shut the fuck up_!"

Later Warren's parents would protest that he hadn't meant to stab Chris. Later Chris would believe them. But in that heated moment, when Chris threw his weight forward in an attempt to escape and Warren turned his wrist so that the blade pointed inwards, their movements collided and the knife slammed into Chris's stomach.

Chris cried out and Warren, panicking, thrust him away. Chris stumbled forwards, shaking hands moving to encircle the wound. Voices shouted in the background but Chris's world had narrowed to a single silver point. Blood trickled between his fingers and his hand slipped off the shaft of the knife. Grunting with effort, he adjusted his grip, counted silently to ten and then yanked the knife out. White hot pain lashed through him, making him gasp and shudder and pray for someone to come and take it all away.

The knife fell from his wet fingers and Chris pressed his hands to the wound. Swaying, he ignored the hands that reached for him and began staggering away from the building. Away from Warren. Away from the horror.

There was pressure building in the air, deep and powerful. Uncontrollable. Demanding to be released. It tightened around him, eclipsing the ache in his stomach, and his vision began to blur, the dark giving way to bright streaks of light. Scorching, painful, brilliant light that made his eyes burn. Light that exploded without warning, screaming with fury, lashing the ground and the buildings with its anger and tossing him into the air like a rag-doll. For one endless moment, Chris felt like he was being burned alive… then the light faded and everything fell into darkness.

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><p><strong>AN:** Okay, who's hating Warren right now...? I'm really looking to get some feedback on this story, so please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter Two: Wyatt

**A/N: **Big thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! So I wanted to get people's opinions on something and that's the appropriate rating for this story. Originally I set it to M, but that seemed a little too extreme, and so I've reduced it to T. Given the content of this and the first chapter (which are probably the most "adult" chapters in the whole story) do you think that's okay? I'd be interested in getting feedback on this so let me know what you think.

Also, please do let me know what you think of the actual chapter itself :) Feedback makes the world go round...

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><p><strong>Chapter Two - Wyatt<strong>

Wyatt Halliwell ruffled his damp hair with a towel and considered his reflection. The blonde curls were sticking out all over the place as usual. He looked like he'd stuck his finger in a socket.

"Trying out a new style?" A stocky, dark-haired boy joined him at the mirror, already dressed, towel slung around his neck. "Not sure even you can pull that one off."

Wyatt laughed. "Not working for you, Reid?"

"You look like you're from one of those eighties bands my dad listens to," the other boy told him, straight-faced.

"Nice." Wyatt half-heartedly poked at his curls and then shrugged. "Eh, why am I worrying? No one's gonna see me anyway."

"Well you _have_ got that image to maintain…"

"Reid – there's no one here."

His friend looked around the empty locker room. "Oh, yeah. Good point."

Wyatt tugged a t-shirt over his head, messing his hair up even more. He resisted the urge to try and straighten it out again and stuffed the towel into his gym bag. Slipping his jacket on, his eyes fell on his bare wrist.

"Oh sh – what's the time?"

Reid checked his watch, an expensive little digital model with an illuminated face. "Twenty past five. Why? You got exciting plans?"

"Chris needs a lift home. Somehow between this morning and this afternoon he managed to get detention."

"_Again_?" Reid looked vaguely impressed.

_Yeah_, Wyatt thought. _Again_. Chris really wasn't doing himself any favours recently. This was the third lot of detentions he'd been given this semester – and they were only in the second month. His parents were still fuming about the last one. At this rate Chris was going to be grounded until he was fifty.

Wyatt zipped up his bag and slung it crossways across his body. "I'd better go meet him." The last thing they needed was Chris getting fed up with hanging around and orbing home instead. The risk of exposure aside, the personal gain rule had been drummed into their head from childhood. Powers were to be used to help people, not to save you the drive home. Knowing Chris's luck he'd end up orbing into the manor just as their mom arrived home anyway. Wyatt could do without those fireworks.

"Mind if I tag along? My dad's outta town so I'm going to my mom's. And _my _car –"

"Is still in the shop, yeah, I remember." The fender of Reid's Jaguar currently resembled a pretzel. There'd been an incident involving a girl, a Starbucks latte and an unexpected red light – Wyatt wasn't too clear on the details. "When's it gonna be fixed?"

Reid shrugged. "Whenever. So, lift?"

"Well as I _will_ be driving passed your front door…" A thought struck Wyatt. "Dunno where Chris is gonna sit."

"Ah, we'll stick him in the trunk," Reid said breezily, holding the door open. Wyatt followed him out into the corridor. "He's small enough."

The thought of stuffing his little brother into the trunk of his Camaro made Wyatt laugh. "He'll love that."

They made their way along the darkened corridor, trainers squeaking on the linoleum. "So where _is_ your dad?" Wyatt asked as they neared the outer doors. "Away on business?"

"As much as he ever is." Reid snorted. "Still at least I'll get another guilt present. If I hold out long enough, I reckon he'll get me a new media centre this time."

"Nice."

"I know, right? Thank God for sleazy blondes in sleazy motels." Reid shoved the door open and they stepped outside. "You know one of them phoned last week? Dad was so drunk he gave out his real number by accident." When Wyatt looked nonplussed, Reid smiled savagely. "Brandy took the call."

Brandy was Reid's stepmom. According to Reid, if you looked up "gold digger" in the dictionary, there'd be a picture of her face. Wyatt had met the woman a couple of times and both experiences had been disturbing. The first time she'd gotten drunk, started crying hysterically about the state of her marriage and then had passed out on the kitchen floor. The second she'd tried to hit on him. Now Reid made sure she was elsewhere before inviting friends round.

"Should have heard the argument they had about that," Reid enthused. "It was like something off one of those Jerry Springer re-runs."

As Reid launched into a full, blow-by-blow description of his dad's latest bust-up with Brandy, Wyatt found his thoughts wandering to his own family. Despite their extraordinary abilities, in a lot of ways they were just… normal. No single mom's, divorce courts or evil stepmothers; just the two point four kids in the pretty house with the picket fence. Wyatt knew he was lucky to have that. As much as Reid liked to joke about his own situation, he got this wistful look sometimes when Wyatt mentioned his own parents or his siblings.

Particularly Chris. Reid had always wanted a brother, which Wyatt found kind of ironic. Not that he and Chris didn't get on, only… well, sometimes Wyatt found himself wondering if they were even related. He loved his brother, sure, but the only time they'd spent together lately had been of the demon-attack or magical-studies kind. At any other time, Chris lived in his own little angry bubble, emerging sometimes to toss sarcastic and cutting words at the rest of the world. He went out of his way to make life difficult for himself and everyone around him, and Wyatt was getting tired of giving him a wide berth. He knew his parents were too, but they hadn't done anything about it yet, so Wyatt figured they thought Chris would grow out his behaviour eventually. Wyatt hoped he'd hurry up. Living with Chris hadn't been much fun recently.

"So what's going on with you and Helena?"

"Huh?" Reid was eyeing him intently, but didn't seem offended that Wyatt had zoned out.

"You. Helena. Making out." Reid made an obscene gesture with his hands. "When did that spaceship land? And why didn't I know about it?"

Wyatt batted his hands away. "She's my lab partner."

"And that means… what exactly? You admire her for her brain?"

"No, numbnuts, it means that's how I got to know her." Wyatt gave Reid a shove that the other boy dodged. "She actually kinda sucks at Chem."

"Well you're perfect for each other then," Reid declared. "But still, c'mon, Wyatt – she's _Helena Washington_! You know, Saint Helena the Pure. "Many guys have attempted the pilgrimage; all have failed." She's like the… the Holy Grail of girls! Aren't you a little psyched?"

Wyatt ducked his head to hide a grin. "We really have to get you a girlfriend."

Reid looked suddenly thoughtful. "Helena's friends with Jenny Millwood, right? Now _there's _a girl who'd go for a ride in a Jag."

"Shame yours is in the shop."

"Not forever." They skirted the edge of the athletics track field and continued towards the parking lot. Reid spun around in front of Wyatt and started walking backwards. "Ask her, will you?"

Wyatt shot him a look. "Reid, we've been going out since Monday. I'm not sure I'm at that setting-her-friends-up-with-mine-stage yet."

"You're Wyatt Halliwell, it's not like she's gonna say no."

"Helena might not, but Jenny probably will."

"Harsh, Wy. Harsh. But possibly true," Reid allowed after a pause. "Which is why I need to sweeten the deal…" He started rooting in his bag, searching for God knows what. Probably a gold-plated iPhone Mark V.

"You have _got _to stop bribing girls to go out with you."

"It's a tried and tested method, my friend. Now let's see what I've got –"

They had just reached the path leading up to the school's east entrance when it happened. Bright blue and white light flared up in the distance, brilliant against the darkening sky. It hung there for several long seconds and then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving them dazed and blinking at one another.

"Did you see –"

"What the hell was –"

They both stopped. Reid's bag thumped to the floor and Wyatt became aware he was clenching his fists. He loosened them, shaking out his hands, as Reid took a few steps forward. "It came from over by the science labs… we should totally check it out."

Wyatt hesitated. Long, often painful, experience had taught him that plunging into an unknown situation wasn't always the smartest move. Maybe it would be better if –

But Reid wasn't waiting for his permission. He was already off, jogging in the direction of the light. Wyatt bit back a curse and followed him, scooping up his friend's bag as he had an irritating tendency to leave his stuff lying around for anyone to fall over. He'd got through a bag and two cells this year already.

Wyatt caught up to Reid as they rounded the corner of the science wing, almost running into the back of him when his friend stopped abruptly. As Wyatt stepped around the other boy, he realised why.

It looked like there'd been some kind of explosion. The patch of grass in the small quad opposite had been clean burnt away, with only a few yellowing stalks left among the black ash. The wooden benches were streaked with angry scars and the bricks in the wall of the biology lab were scorched and pitted, as if something had smashed into them at high speed. And the air – the air was humming with heat and shear, untapped power. It was strong it stung the back of Wyatt's throat, making him cough.

Reid jogged across to the wall, his fingers tracing one of the scars, wincing when they touched the brick. "It's still hot," he marvelled.

Wyatt slipped past him, following the trail of destruction off to the left. One of the school's security lights switched on as he passed, spreading a sickly yellow glow across the area and revealing deep gashes in the paving slabs beneath his feet. Wyatt crouched down to get a better look. The damage… it was unbelievable.

"What the hell _caused_ this?"

Wyatt just shook his head wordlessly, letting Reid's bag sink to the floor. He'd assumed an explosion, but this… something about it just wasn't sitting well with him. It almost looked like a fire had ripped through the area, but that didn't make any sense at all. Apart from the quad, there was nothing but bricks and concrete. Bricks and concrete weren't exactly the most flammable of materials. Wyatt wasn't great at the sciences but even he vaguely knew that it would take a hell of a lot of power to cause this kind of damage to stone.

Reid finally gave up on trying to decipher the wall and wandered passed him, moving further into the quad. Several more security lights switched on as he passed. Wyatt followed his progress absently, still trying to work out what had happened. They were by the science labs – maybe that's where it had come from. There were some pretty powerful chemicals stored in there, although the really dangerous ones were securely locked away. Had someone broken in? But why? To blow up a few trees and benches – what was the point in that?

"Oh God, oh my God, oh my – Wyatt! _Wyatt_!"

Alarmed, Wyatt jumped up and broke into the run, following the sound of his friend's voice. Reid was on the other side of the quad, beneath a row of shattered windows. He was tugging frantically at something on the ground.

"What the –?"

"It's Austin." Reid's voice was rising. "He was just lying here and I can't – Jesus, I can't find a pulse! Wyatt – _I can't find a pulse!"_

"There must be one –" Wyatt dropped onto the ground beside his friend and picked up Austin's free wrist. The boy's arm was limp in his grip and when he pressed his fingers against the skin, there was no reassuring thump of a heartbeat.

"Anything?" Reid demanded. "Did you feel anything?"

Wyatt shook his head. "Let me try again –" He grabbed Austin's other wrist, waited, and then pressed his fingers against the boy's neck. Still nothing. He checked and checked again but came up with the same result – Austin West's heart wasn't beating.

"I think he's dead," Wyatt whispered.

"Oh God." Reid stumbled to his feet and staggered away, hands reaching out to press against the nearest wall like a drowning man grasping for a safety line.

Wyatt looked down at the body. It said something about his life that he wasn't following Reid into full-on freakout mode. But then, he'd seen dead people before – it was kind of unavoidable with his magical heritage. No matter how hard his family tried, good didn't always win and innocents couldn't always be saved. But this…? This was in another class entirely. Austin was someone he knew. Someone he'd seen every day at school. Not a friend exactly, but a teammate. And he was just lying here… dead.

"But he was just – he was just in practice. _With us_. I was just talking to him ten minutes ago." Reid banged his hands against the wall. "How can he – _what the hell happened_?"

Austin's eyes were half open. He'd had always had these dark, intense eyes, set back under a furrowed brow. "Bedroom" eyes he'd told anyone who would listen. Guaranteed to make any girl weak at the knees. And now they were staring at Wyatt, fixed and vacant.

He reached out quickly and drew the eyelids down, like he'd seen his mom do once for an innocent they'd been too late to save. She'd said it was about dignity. That they'd seen enough and deserved to rest peacefully. Wyatt just couldn't stand the staring.

He was about to move back – give himself some space – when something caught his eyes. There were tiny raised marks on Austin's skin; red and angry. Small enough to be missed at first glance, but forming a network of patterns when you looked closely. It was like nothing Wyatt had ever seen before. Except for on the walls and ground around them.

"Maybe it was some kind of condition he didn't know anything about," Reid hazarded unsteadily. "You read about stuff like that on the news. When healthy people just – just drop dead for no reason… oh God, how can he be dead, Wyatt? _How can he be dead_?"

"I don't know."

Silence fell between them. Wyatt could hear Reid's unsteady breathing as the other boy fought to hold onto his composure. He knew he should say something calming, but the words wouldn't come. This was just… mad. Like out of a dream or something. Things like this didn't happen in real life.

"We have to phone the cops," Reid said suddenly. "And an ambulance – is it even worth phoning an ambulance? Do you phone ambulances for dead people –?"

The edge of hysteria in Reid's voice kick-started Wyatt into action. He jumped up and took his friend by the shoulders, forcing his gaze away from Austin's still body. "Don't look, Reid. Just – don't look."

"But, but I –"

"It's okay. I'll handle it."

"No, it's not okay. _It's not okay_!" Reid shoved Wyatt away. He was crying. "It's not okay," he whispered.

Reid was right. It wasn't okay. It was so _far_ from okay that Wyatt had no idea where to start trying to make it better. But he had to try. For Reid, who was on the verge of losing it completely and for poor Austin, who had already lost everything.

Wyatt dug his cell out of his pocket and pressed it into Reid's hand. "Make the calls. I'll handle things here."

"I can't leave you –"

"Reid, just go. I'll be fine."

The look of gratitude on Reid's face was enough to tell Wyatt he'd made the right decision. As was the fact that as he turned to watch his friend leave, he caught sight of someone else slumped at the base of the wall opposite, next to the door that led into Mr Henderson's chem lab. Heart thumping so loudly he could hear it in his ears, Wyatt approached the second body.

He'd been half-expecting it, but the shock of seeing Jake Hawkins's pale face still made Wyatt sit back on his heels, fist pressing against his mouth. He didn't need to check Jake's pulse to know he was dead; the odd angle of his neck was proof enough of that. From his position it looked like he must have been thrown against the wall by something. But what could pitch a linebacker this far with enough force to break his neck?

Five metres beyond Jake, and almost completely hidden by the darkness, he found the final body. The hard lines of Warren Trent's face had been softened by death, but the familiar red marks were more pronounced and longer too. His jacket and the t-shirt underneath had been partially burned away, and the marks lashed diagonally across his chest like he'd been whipped. The left side of his hair had been reduced to stubble and the expression on his face – even in death – was one of horror.

Wyatt's stomach lurched. He stood up quickly and moved away, putting some distance between himself and the dead boys. His mind felt like it was running in slow motion. He wished someone would just come and tell him what he was supposed to do.

The sound of footsteps made the breath catch in his throat, but it was just Reid returning, phone in hand. "They're on their way," he called. "Five minutes out. They asked us to stay until they arrived – preserve the scene and all that." He peered past Wyatt. "What are you doing down there?"

"Reid –"

There was a long silence. Then Reid swallowed hard. "Is that Jake? And Warren?"

"Yes."

"Are they dead too?"

Wyatt didn't answer. He didn't want to be the one to say the words. Not again.

Reid looked away. "I have to… I've got to meet the cops." He fled back the way he'd come.

Wyatt watched him go and then slumped back against the wall, resting his head in his hands and welcoming the darkness. If he just stayed here, like this, he could block it all out. He could just be a normal guy, coming home from a normal football practice, on a normal day. He wouldn't have to deal with any of this.

The paramedics were efficient, sympathetic and took both boys firmly in hand. The cops wanted statements of course, but aside from their observation about the light, there wasn't much the boys could tell them. Yes, they had known the victims. Yes, they were on the football team together. Yes, they'd last seen them leaving the locker room after practice. No, they didn't know why they had been over by the science block. No, they didn't know what had happened. It wasn't long before Reid was flagging and an eagle-eyed officer bundled them into the back of a car and promised to drive them home.

Wyatt watched through the open car door as the paramedics loaded Mike's body onto a stretcher. He'd overheard enough to know that they were as confused by the marks on the boys' bodies as he and Reid had been, and while they'd confirmed the deaths, they hadn't been able to even guess at the cause beyond "some kind of explosion". Beside him, Reid sat silently. They hadn't spoken since the officers had interviewed them. There was nothing left to say.

A female officer approached the car, crouching down so that she was on their eye level. "Sorry this is taking so long, boys, but there's something else we need to ask you before we can get you home."

"What?" Wyatt asked warily.

The woman grimaced, pushing brown hair out of weary brown eyes. "I wish I didn't have to drag you kids into this again, but we're being pushed to sort this one out quickly so… the paramedics have found a fourth victim. He's still alive and we were hoping you could identify him for us."

Reid turned his head away and didn't say anything. Wyatt took a deep breath. "I'll do it."

The woman looked relieved. "Thanks, kid. You've just made my job a hell of a lot easier." She stood back to let him climb out of the car and then led him back towards the quad. As they moved passed where he had found Austin, then Jake and Warren, Wyatt kept his eyes on the ground. The damage was growing worse, developing an ugly and furious edge and then all of a sudden it stopped. They were here, Wyatt realised distantly. The centre of the explosion. He could literally see it, blazing out like a ring of fire from the central spot where three paramedics were bending over something on the ground, a pair of men hovering over them.

"Hey Parks?" the woman called. "Might be able to get an ident on our vic." She indicated Wyatt and one of the men came across to them. He was tall, with swarthy skin and a dark beard. His eyes were kind.

"Now, we just need you to take a look at his face and see if you can give us a name, okay? We've covered the rest of his body, so you won't be able to see anything else. Just his face. All we need is a name, if you know it, and then Officer Kitt will see you home."

Wyatt nodded. "Okay."

The man guided him forward, moving one of the paramedics gently out of the way and then stepping aside so that Wyatt could see the fourth victim.

The world froze. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest and all the air had been sucked out of his body. Wyatt fought for breath, panic rising up inside him, clawing at his insides. No, this couldn't be right. It couldn't be. It just_ couldn't_.

But the pale face stared up at him, mocking him with its familiarity. Dark brown hair splayed messily across his forehead; dark eyebrows curved above green eyes. That scar on his cheek from where he'd tripped over and hit his face on the corner of the coffee table as a child. The birthmark below his right ear.

And the thin line of blood trickling out of his mouth.

"Son?" The man peered at him, frowning. "Are you okay? Do you know this boy? Son?"

"He's my brother."


	3. Chapter Three: Melinda

**Chapter Three - Melinda**

Melinda Halliwell twisted in her chair, trying to catch her mom's eye.

Piper was bustling around the kitchen at a hundred miles an hour, cooking dinner with one hand, while preparing a potion with the other – something to do with a demon that had been troubling Aunt Paige, Melinda thought, although she wasn't sure. The potion was belching yellow smoke up into the air and she just hoped Mom wouldn't confuse it with their dinner in all her hurrying about.

The two seats next to Melinda were conspicuously empty. Wyatt was at football practice – he always had football practice on a Wednesday – but Chris should have been home. Maybe he was sulking in his room. Chris did a lot of sulking recently. He was always getting told off for his "bad attitude".

Melinda hadn't been in trouble for weeks. No, wait, months. _Definitely_ months.

Mom added some red wine to the pan on the stove, tasted it and then put her spoon down. "How was school today?"

Mom asked the same question every day, and today Melinda had already prepared her answer. "I got 93% in my American History test!" she announced.

Her mom wiped her hands on her apron and smiled. "That's wonderful, honey. Make sure to tell your dad when he gets home, okay?"

"Okay," Melinda agreed easily, glowing under the praise. Of course she'd tell Dad. He'd want to know so that he could be proud of her. Also, history – particular American history – was one of his favourite subjects. Probably something to do with the fact that he'd been alive for almost 100 years and so had _lots_ of personal experience.

Mom threw a handful of something into the cauldron and a burst of violet smoke puffed up to the join the yellow, bringing with it a startling smell of flowers. She stirred the potion once and then nodded, apparently satisfied. Pulling a vial from under the island, she tipped a quantity of the liquid into it and then added a stopper.

"Paige!"

There was a pause and then Aunt Paige appeared in the kitchen in a swirl of orbs. She was wearing jeans and a blue halter top, with a pair of white-rimmed glasses perched precariously on top of her dark hair. "Hi Mel," she called, waving. Melinda waved back, grinning. Aunt Paige was cool.

Aunt Paige stuck out a hand and Mom dropped the potion bottle into her palm. Before Aunt Paige could orb out again, Mom caught her arm. "Three drops, okay? No more."

"Three drops. Right." Aunt Paige nodded vigorously, the glasses sliding forward. Melinda eyed them, wondering if they were going to fall off.

"No more, Paige."

"No more."

"Or they'll be a big bang."

"And big bang bad. Got it." She flashed her sister a bright smile and orbed out.

Piper stared at the space where Paige had just disappeared and then shook her head. "She's going to get herself blown up."

Melinda thought it was one of those comments she wasn't supposed to have overheard, but her mom's words intrigued her. "Why have you given Aunt Paige a potion that's going to blow her up?"

Mom's head snapped around. "I – uh – honey, I was only joking."

"So the potion's not dangerous?"

"Well, not if it's used correctly."

"And Aunt Paige might not do that."

Mom's face took on that "lecturing" quality that Chris often moaned about. "Mel, your aunt is an experienced witch. I'm sure she knows how to use the potion correctly."

Melinda chewed on her lip. "I don't know… the twins were telling me about this time when she –"

"Your cousins talk too much," Mom interrupted. "And stop chewing on your lip, you'll make it bleed."

Melinda slid off her chair and wandered over to the island, picking through the potion ingredients. "Will you teach me how to make that potion?"

"When you're older," Mom said, taking a sprig of heather from her hands and returning it to the cupboard. "Now go and sit down."

Melinda flounced back to her seat with a huff. If she had a dollar for every time Mom or Dad had said that to her… if it had been Wyatt who had asked, Mom would have told _him_.

"Mel, can you go and see if your dad's –"

The phone rang, cutting Mom off. Frowning irritably, she wiped her hands and picked it up. "Piper Halliwell."

Melinda tapped her foot against the chair leg and tried to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping.

"Wyatt?"

_Boring_. No one exciting ever rang the house. It was always one of her brothers or Grandpa Victor. Or sometimes Aunt Phoebe. She couldn't orb so using the phone was faster than driving. Melinda craned her neck to look at the stove. Dinner was filling the kitchen with a lovely smell and her stomach growled in response. How much longer was it going to be?

"Wyatt, was it is? What's wrong, honey?"

Mom's voice sounded weird. As Melinda watched, Mom pressed her hand to her mouth and looked like she was going to be sick. Melinda half-stood, wondering if she should go and get Dad.

"_What_?"

She should definitely go and get Dad. Bad news wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence in this family, but Melinda had never seen such a look on her mom's face before. Whatever this was, it was bad. Very bad.

"Are you hurt? Hold on – I'll be there straight away. Paige – _Paige_!"

As Melinda wavered, the familiar blue and white orbs appeared in the middle of the kitchen, reforming into her Aunt Paige. Her hands were on her hips and she was scowling.

"Piper – I got your warning, okay? I'm not an idiot. You don't need to…"

Mom waved an urgent hand, turning away. "Honey, what are you saying?"

"What's going on?" Aunt Paige mouthed, looking at Melinda. Melinda shook her head dumbly.

"Wyatt, talk to me, honey."

Mom's hands were shaking. Melinda stood up and stumbled over to Aunt Paige. Her aunt put her arms around her, absently stroking her hair.

Mom was silent for a long time. Then she took a deep breath. "Okay, okay. Wyatt? Stay with your brother. I'll have Aunt Paige drop me and Dad over now. We'll be there soon. Third floor? Yes, I understand."

She pressed the disconnect button and put the receiver down carefully, staring blankly at the wall.

"Piper?" Aunt Paige ventured. "Piper, what's happened?"

"Chris, he –" Mom cleared her throat. "Chris has been stabbed."

Stabbed. Her brother… her brother had been stabbed? Melinda went hot and then cold. Aunt Paige's arms tightened around her.

"Oh my God," Aunt Paige murmured.

"I, uh, I have to get to the hospital." Mom moved towards the table and then stopped, looking around in confusion. "Where are my keys? Why can't I find my keys?"

Aunt Paige released Melinda and stepped forward. "Sweetie, I'll take you. That's why you called me, remember?"

"This evening – I have a meeting at the restaurant. I'll have to – I'll have to cancel that…" Mom ran a hand through her hair. "I need to cancel that."

Aunt Paige took Mom gently by the shoulders. "Piper? Piper, look at me, okay? Just take a breath. I'll handle everything. _You_ just focus on Chris."

Mom's face crumpled and she started to cry. Aunt Paige hugged her. "Someone stabbed my baby. Why would they do that?"

"I don't know, sweetie, I don't know."

Forgotten in the corner, Melinda wrapped her arms around herself and remained very still. Maybe if she stood here long enough then none of this would be true. Maybe she would wake up and Chris would be there, teasing and glaring, sulking and snarling…

Mom pulled back suddenly. "Oh God, I have to tell Leo. What am I gonna tell him?"

"I could –"

"No." Mom wiped her eyes and straightened. "No, I need to do that myself. Can you, um, can you get some clothes together for the boys? And maybe some food?"

"Clothes, check. Food, check. I'll throw some magazines in there too. Interior Design Weekly just isn't gonna cut it." When Mom still lingered, Aunt Paige gave her a gentle shove towards the kitchen door. "Go to Magic School. I'll have everything ready by the time you get back."

As soon as Mom had left the kitchen, Aunt Paige sagged back against the island and ran her hands over her face and up into her hair. The glasses fell to the floor with a clatter, but she didn't pick them up. Almost a whole minute had passed before Melinda took a few hesitant steps forward.

"Aunt Paige? Is Chris going to be okay?"

Her aunt jumped. Seeing Melinda still standing there, she pushed away from the island and smiled weakly. "Of course he is, baby. The doctors will fix him up, you'll see."

Melinda wanted to be reassured, but her aunt's words just sounded so empty. Like she didn't believe them, even though she was the one who'd spoken. That made Melinda's mind up.

"When you go to the hospital, can I come with you? I want to see him." When Aunt Paige frowned and went to reply, Melinda cut in. "Don't tell me I'm too young. I'm almost twelve. And he's my brother."

"I should really take you to Aunt Phoebe's…"

"I want to see Chris," Melinda repeated stubbornly.

Aunt Paige sighed and gave up the fight. "Alright. But if your Mom asks, this was nothing to do with me."

* * *

><p>Melinda hadn't been to many hospitals. The last time had been because of Grandpa Victor's heart trouble four years ago – and that had been more of a celebration of the operation's success than anything else. They hadn't stayed long and all she could remember was lots of white and a funny, slightly unpleasant smell.<p>

She'd asked her parents later and they explained about antiseptic. From that moment on it would forever remind her of hospitals.

She could smell it again now, though not quite as strongly. That was because she was sitting in a waiting room, not on a ward. Her parents had been taken off by the doctor and Aunt Paige had gone to tell the rest of the family what had happened. That left Wyatt and Melinda in the waiting room.

Waiting.

The plastic chair she was sitting on was shiny and uncomfortable. If she slouched down too much, she risked slipping off the end, but if she sat up straight then it made her back hurt. She sent a side-long glance at Wyatt, sitting beside her, but he didn't seem to be having any trouble. His head was in his hands and his elbows were resting on his knees, so maybe that was helping.

Melinda contemplated the top of Wyatt's head. She didn't know exactly what had happened to Chris yet, but she knew Wyatt had found him. Words like "attacked", "beaten" and "stabbed" had been floating around, but no one seemed to know the whole story. She wanted to ask Wyatt but didn't know if she should.

She worried her lip and decided to risk it. "Wyatt? What happened?"

He raised his head, red-rimmed eyes finding hers. "Mel…" he said slowly, "what are you doing here?"

"I came with Aunt Paige."

"You shouldn't be here." He dragged himself to his feet. "C'mon, I'll take you home."

Melinda twisted away from him, sliding onto the next chair. "I want to see Chris."

"No."

Melinda narrowed her eyes. "You can't tell me what to do. He's my brother! Why shouldn't I see him?"

"It's late. You can see him tomorrow."

"I want to see him now!"

"Well you can't," he said roughly, pulling Melinda to her feet. "You're going home."

"No! Stop it – let go of me!" She struggled, clawing at his arm. "Let me go!"

"Mel, stop –"

"I'll scream!"

" – stop acting like a –"

"I will, I'll scream!"

" – child, or I'll –"

She opened her mouth and sucked in a breath when Wyatt suddenly dropped her arm and grabbed her by the shoulders. "This isn't a game, Melinda," he shouted, face inches from hers. "This isn't one of your make-believe stories. This is _real_. And you shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be seeing this."

He was shaking her, angry and desperate, and as she fought to free herself, Melinda's eyes dropped to Wyatt's chest. He was still wearing his football jacket over the top of a white t-shirt. Or at least, a t-shirt that had been white once upon a time. Right now there was a red stain spread all across Wyatt's stomach.

She stopped fighting and went limp. Wyatt's grip relaxed in response and he finally let go of her. Melinda reached out and pressed her fingertips against the stain. It was her brother's blood, she realised. Chris's blood.

Melinda hadn't really thought about death before. She knew what her family did was dangerous. She'd heard stories about Aunt Prue and Grandma Patty. But they'd been just that: stories. True, sure, but still just stories. She'd never considered that something like that could happen in real-life, to someone she loved. But Wyatt was right. This wasn't a story. This was real and frightening and it hurt, it hurt inside. Like she was the one who was bleeding, not Chris. Chris could die – really, truly die – and there was nothing she could do.

Wyatt sighed and then led her back to the chairs, putting his arm around her shoulder. Melinda leaned against him, squeezing her eyes shut, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't block out the memory of that horrible stain.

"I'm sorry," he murmured after a pause. "Shouldn't have shouted."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"Yeah," Wyatt said quickly. "Of course."

He sounded about as convincing as Aunt Paige had.

* * *

><p>They sat in that waiting room for a long time. Wyatt went to use the vending machine and got them both a bottle of Cola. It tasted sweet and sickly, but Melinda was so glad to have something to do that she gulped it all down. She regretted that when she started to feel sick.<p>

Aunt Paige joined them, bringing Aunt Phoebe with her. They kept to themselves on the other side of the room, talking quietly, looking up every time a nurse or doctor or relative walked passed. Melinda wondered where her uncles were. Normally the whole family would turn out for things like this. Maybe they thought her cousins were too young, like they thought she was too young.

Maybe they were right.

Desperate for something to take her mind of why they were there, she counted the tiles on the ceiling. Twenty-three across, sixteen down. Always twenty-three across and sixteen down. After a while her eyes began to hurt and she looked down instead. The floor was a dark green colour. It matched the chairs.

Aunt Phoebe stood up suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. Melinda peered past her and saw her parents following a white-coated doctor down the corridor. The doctor was holding a clipboard and gesturing with a pen. Dad looked exhausted, all creased and grey, but he made an effort to smile when he saw them. Mom brushed past him, her face set with white lines and tension. His eyes followed her as he and the doctor exchanged a few more murmured words.

"They've taken him up to surgery," Dad told them once the doctor had gone. "He's stable, but they have to fix the damage the knife did to his stomach. They think it might have nicked a kidney."

"But he's going to be okay, right?" Aunt Phoebe asked anxiously.

Dad rubbed his forehead. "The doctors are hopeful. We won't know for sure until after the surgery, but yes – the doctors think he's going to be okay."

Aunt Paige clapped her hands together, grinning. "Oh, thank God," Aunt Phoebe breathed. Wyatt made a choking sound and turned away. Melinda looked down at her sneakers, brushing them back and forth across the floor. The doctors thought Chris was going to be okay. That was good. They would know, wouldn't they? Her nose itched and she rubbed it. Chris was going to be okay. He would come out of surgery and they could all go home and forget this had ever happened. It would be like – like a bad dream.

Wait – come out of surgery? Why was Chris in surgery in the first place?

"Wyatt?" she whispered. When her brother didn't respond, she tugged at his sleeve. "Wyatt?"

"Mel, I just… I just need a minute, okay?"

His voice sounded weird – all shaky. Melinda rubbed her nose again. "Oh, yeah, sure." She watched her swinging feet for a moment. "It's only – I don't get why Chris is in surgery."

Wyatt's shoulders rose and then fell again. "Because he's sick and the doctors are making him better."

"Yeah, I know but – but why aren't we doing it?"

"Doing what?"

"Making Chris better."

"Mel – " Wyatt shifted in his seat, turning towards her slowly, like he was an old man or something. "What are you talking about?"

Melinda frowned at him. Why didn't he understand? Here, in this room, were some of the most powerful witches in the world. And they were all just sitting around, letting mortals do the work for them. In fact, why were they even here, at the hospital, in the first place? Why hadn't Wyatt just called for Aunt Paige when he'd found Chris? Or healed Chris himself?

She could feel herself getting frustrated. "Chris is hurt. Aunt Paige and Wyatt can heal. So they can heal Chris and we can all go home, right?"

"It's not that simple –"

"Well it should be!" she interrupted loudly, drawing everyone's attention. Mom's face was still white and pinched. Her aunts exchanged worried glances. Dad, concern etched on his face, started to rise.

Their reactions just irritated Melinda more. None of them got it! "Why can't we heal Chris?" she demanded, not thinking to keep her voice down. Luckily the waiting room was empty and the nurse that was passing was too engrossed in her notes to notice. She felt heat rising in her cheeks at the error and dug her nails into her palm to try and make it go away.

The aunts were doing some more of that silent eye-communication. Dad made a move towards Mom, but then seemed to think better of it and crossed the room to join his children instead. He crouched down in front of Melinda and took her hands. She tried to tug them away but he held on. "Mel, sometimes magic doesn't work like that. It's a wonderful gift, but we can't always use it however we want to. With healing… well there are restrictions, particularly when an injury wasn't caused by magic. You remember what Mom and I told you about the Elders? Well they have to give their permission before a Whitelighter can heal and…" Dad searched around for the right words, "… sometimes they prefer to let events play out on their own."

"That's an understatement," Aunt Paige muttered.

"But why wouldn't the Elders want us to heal Chris?" Melinda demanded. "He's a witch and a Whitelighter and he's gonna do lots of good, right? So shouldn't they really _want_ to save him?"

Dad sighed. "I know it doesn't make much sense to you now, but these are just the rules we have to live by. Nobody wants to heal Chris more than your mom and I, but we just have to be patient."

"There's also the risk of exposure," Aunt Phoebe offered. "Too many people are involved now. If Chris made a miraculous recovery at this point, it would set alarm bells ringing. Remember Doctor Williamson?"

Aunt Paige looked confused, but Mom spoke up abruptly. "It wouldn't have to be like that," she said, voice low and hard. "It wouldn't and you know it. We're older now and more experienced and – and we could make it look natural."

She wasn't looking at the aunts – she was looking at Dad. Who was shaking his head. "Piper, it's impossible, you know that. We talked about this."

"No, _you_ talked about this," Mom snapped. "I wasn't allowed to have an opinion."

Dad raised his eyebrows. "When have I ever been able to stop you having an opinion?"

"He's our _son_." Mom's hands balled into fists. "And that's the bottom line. _That's _what should matter, not exposure, not personal gain and certainly not the damn Elders! If they're that bothered, let them come down off their fluffy cloud and tell us."

"Piper, we have to do it this way. We agreed. Chris is in surgery and it's done."

She glared at him, white-lipped, but didn't say anything more.

Melinda's thoughts were churning, like water disappearing down a plughole. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears and the sickly taste of the coke was making her feeling light-headed. Mom was angry at Dad. Why was Mom angry at Dad? And magic – she'd always seen magic as this wonderful force that could solve any problem, right any wrong. The idea that it didn't work like that – that magic was governed by as many rules and regulations as anything else – frightened her. What if something went wrong with Chris's surgery? Would the Elders allow Aunt Paige to step in then? Or would they see it as destiny?

Would Chris die?

"It's not right!" She didn't remember standing up, but there she was – on her feet, breathing hard, all the emotions that had been bottled up inside suddenly exploding out of her. "What's the point of having all these powers if we can't use them to heal Chris? We save other people with magic all the time and that's okay. But when it's Chris, there are all these – all these stupid rules and we can't help and we just have to sit here and wait to hear if he's – if the surgery worked? It's not right and it's not fair and – and – _it's not fair_!"

She rounded on Wyatt, sitting there like a lump. "This is all your fault – why did you have to bring him here?"

Her brother jerked backwards as if she'd hit him. "I didn't –"

"If you'd just healed Chris or called for Aunt Paige then – then no one else would be involved and none of this would have happened and we'd all be at home and Chris would be okay. He'd be okay! It's _your _fault!"

"Mel –"

Dad reached for her, but she twisted away. "You can fix this!" she begged the adults, voice rising desperately. "You can heal Chris and make everything okay. You have to fix it, _please_!"

She was crying, great big tears dripping down her cheeks. Her nose was running. Wyatt was looking horribly bewildered. And suddenly Mom was there, sweeping her into warm arms. She buried her face in Mom's shoulder and gave up the fight, sobbing so hard her whole body shook.

Mom didn't say anything; just held her until she was still again, running a hand up and down her back. Melinda relaxed as the familiar motion reminded her of the comfort and security of being a child. When the world had seemed full of adventure and scary monsters had just been in her dreams.

As her tears dried, so did her anger, leaving her with an exhausted, head-achy feeling. Mom drew back, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Dad was kneeling beside Mom and Melinda realised he was the one who'd been stroking her back. "Okay now?" he asked quietly.

"I don't understand… don't you want Chris to get better?"

Dad closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, the exhaustion was back. "Oh honey, we do. Of course we do."

"But you're not going to heal him?"

Mom and Dad looked at each other for a long, long time. Dad held out his hand. There was a beat and then Mom slowly took it, fingers barely touching his.

Turning back to Mel, she cleared her throat. "We're not going to heal him right now, no."

"What about… what if the Elders decide it's Chris's time to…" She couldn't say the word.

Dad touched her chin, lifting it slightly. "Then your mom and I will have something to say about it. They owe us a few favours." He smiled reassuringly. "It's going to be okay, sweetheart."

She'd heard similar words from Aunt Paige and Wyatt over the last few hours, but it wasn't until Dad said them that she started to believe it. He just had this… this quiet confidence that helped to heal that ache inside. Dad would make sure everything was okay. He'd look after Chris and Mom and Wyatt and then her family would be safe again.

"I think I'd like to go home now," Melinda whispered.

Dad dropped a kiss on her head and rose, drawing Mom up with him. "Paige? Could you –?"

"What? Oh, uh, yeah – sure." Her aunt stood up and stretched dramatically. "C'mon munchkin. Let's see how Uncle Coop's coping with babysitting the Halliwell clan."

"We're going to Aunt Phoebe's?" Aunt Phoebe's was good. Aunt Phoebe's meant company and cousins that could distract her.

"We're going to Aunt Phoebe's," Aunt Paige confirmed, joining her parents. "Ready?"

Melinda nodded. Aunt Paige put an arm around her shoulders and glanced around to check the waiting room was clear. Just before they vanished in a swirl of white and blue lights, Melinda saw Mom drop her dad's hand and turn her back on him.


	4. Chapter Four: Chris

**A/N: **This chapter presented an interesting challenge because while it needed to be from Chris's perspective, the narrative demanded that he still be unconscious at this point. So instead I decided to tell the story of how the problems between Chris and Warren started – I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four – Chris<strong>

It felt like something significant had happened. Something… life-changing. But frustratingly, the details hovered just out of sight and every time he reached from them, they slipped out of focus. He caught snatches of conversations, flashes of colour, a face, a name… and pain. There was pain there, burning, but distant. He tried to follow where it led but just like everything else, it trickled through his fingers, leading him down into the dark.

And then Chris began to dream.

* * *

><p>He remembered the first day he'd met Warren Trent. It hadn't been particularly significant; just a random fall day when the leaves outside were turning brown and the chill winter air was beginning to scatter them across the ground. Wyatt had been accepted onto the football team at the beginning of the year – <em>of course<em> – and had decided to bring some of his new teammates home. It was a risky move; their parents tended towards caution when it came to inviting friends over, particularly when Mom was out and there was no one around to handily freeze marauding demons who'd decided to drop by, but Wyatt being Wyatt had carefully prepped things beforehand. So the invite went off without a hitch and Chris got his first taste of things to come.

He'd seen Warren around school of course. It was hard to miss someone the size of a bus, with a loud mouth and an overgrown sense of self-importance. But Chris had been a puny freshman back then, not even on Warren's radar and too busy with his own life to care. Which led him back to that day, over two years ago now, when he'd come home late from school to find the house had been invaded by Neanderthals.

He heard them before he saw them, which almost gave him enough time to close the front door silently and slink up the stairs. Not hiding, no never hiding. Just exercising his right to privacy. Of course, it was Warren who spotted him, half-way up the staircase.

"Who's this then?"

The cry was loud and grating. The kind of voice that expected to be listened to when it spoke. Obligingly, heads turned and Chris had the inexplicable urge to duck and cover. He didn't though, just lounged against the banister like he didn't have a care in the world.

Wyatt's head popped out from behind the lounge wall. "My little brother. Hey, you're home late."

Chris just shrugged. He could tell Wyatt why, but really, what was the point? It was none of his business and Wyatt would only disapprove anyway.

"Detention again?"

Ooh, original. And irritating accurate. "No, I was out casing the town for a liquor joint to knock over. Mom home?"

The sarcasm earned him an exasperated look. "She's in the kitchen."

"Right." Best avoid that room then. He took another step up the stairs when that voice brayed out again.

"Not gonna join us – hey, what's his name?"

"Chris," Wyatt supplied.

"Not gonna join us, Chris?"

Chris pretended to consider his answer. "As thrilling as that sounds, I have to go and wash my hair."

Warren's eyebrows shot up. "Too good for us huh? Someone's got a high opinion of themselves." He laughed – not a pleasant sound – drawing a few sycophantic chuckles from some of the other guys.

Wyatt frowned. "Lay off him, Warren."

"Ah, I'm only joking around. Chris knows that, right Chris?"

Judging by the malicious light in his eyes, it was the kind of joking that only Warren found funny. Chris gave a non-committal nod and then continued up the stairs.

"I didn't know you had a brother," he heard one of the others comment as he hit the landing. "Does he go to Lowell?"

"Started this year."

"Kinda small for his age, huh?"

Whatever reply Wyatt made was swallowed up by the mocking laughter of Warren Trent.

That day had brought him to Warren's attention, but it wasn't until the end of his freshman year that the fun really began.

* * *

><p>It all started innocently enough. Chris was heading out of Algebra, nursing a headache. Not because he found the class hard – he was acing it actually – but because he'd spent most of the previous evening fighting off Scabber demons and was, as a consequence, exhausted. The only smidgen of comfort was that Wyatt had looked equally bad that morning, and <em>he <em>had to stay for football practice.

Chris swung past his locker on the way to Shop class only to find the way blocked. Warren Trent, not a hair out of place, was casually trapping a younger boy against the lockers, one hand either side of his head. From a distance it looked like they were just having a friendly conversation, but as Chris drew closer the younger boy shot him a desperate look. Chris recognised him from homeroom. Daniel Ramirez. Short and slim, with a shock of messy dark hair, he was the most unassuming and inoffensive guy in the world. Typical then that he was Warren Trent's latest punch-bag.

Chris wasn't big on altruism, but there was just something about seeing innocents in trouble that kicked his protective instincts into overdrive. Besides, he really needed to dump his Algebra books – those things were damn heavy. So instead of doing a one-eighty, he stepped towards the struggling pair.

"Alright there, Daniel?"

Daniel coughed. "I didn't – I didn't do anything."

"Yeah… that's all it takes sometimes. Just let him go, Warren. I need to get to my locker."

Warren's brow wrinkled. "Are you talking to me?"

"No, I'm talking to the other Warren holding a guy against the lockers. Now you gonna move? I don't wanna be late for class."

Warren continued to stare, his expression torn somewhere between confusion and disbelief. It was almost funny. Chris wondered how long it had been since someone had last stood up to Warren.

"Who _are_ you?" he demanded finally.

Chris swallowed a laugh. They'd run into each other a few times at the manor since last fall, but he obviously hadn't made much of an impression. It gave him a delicious amount of anonymity.

"I'm someone who wants to get into my locker." Chris made a show of looking at his watch. "Bell's about to ring. Can we hurry this up?"

Warren's grip must have loosened because Daniel chose that moment to run. Warren, seeing his quarry escaping, chased after him. "Ramirez!"

Daniel, smart boy, ducked inside the nearest classroom. Warren pulled up, cursing. Chris focused on opening his locker and dropping his books inside. He felt the exact moment when Warren's attention returned to him and he braced himself for a blow. When it didn't fall, he closed his locker, set the padlock and turned around.

Warren was just standing there, watching him. It was… kinda weird actually. Chris felt like a fly under a microscope. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then was annoyed at himself for doing so. Chris had faced down demons and warlocks from the pits of the Underworld. Warren Trent was nothing compared to them.

"Halliwell," Warren said slowly, as recognition finally dawned. "Wyatt's little brother." The scrutiny continued for a few more seconds and then he smiled, eyes cold. "Interesting."

Something about the way he said the word… at the time Chris just walked away. With hindsight, he probably should have paid more attention.

* * *

><p>A flash of bright light shot through the darkness, jabbing at his eyes. Chris twisted, trying to track its path, when the pain flared, shocking in its ferocity. He cried out, curling in on himself to try and escape from it. For a breath it wrapped itself around him, suffocating, and just as it became too much there was a surge of cool, blessed relief. It trickled through his veins and brought with it a strange sense of peace. Smiling, Chris allowed it to sweep him back under.<p>

* * *

><p>After the "locker incident", as Emily termed it later, Warren became much more of a fixture in Chris's life. What started off as a couple of run-ins a month quickly became a couple a week. Chris maintained his disinterest at first, refusing to give in and indulge Warren, but this just made the older boy more and more frustrated, and more and more intent on breaking him. Soon the taunts had become razor-sharp and the threats increasingly violent.<p>

Then one day Warren dropped around at the manor and everything changed.

Chris was rummaging through the kitchen cupboards, looking for a snack. His mom was over at Aunt Phoebe's – or maybe Aunt Paige's, Chris hadn't really been listening – and Dad was out with Wyatt. Which meant he had the whole house to himself for a change – a pretty rare occurrence in the Halliwell clan. First port of call had been sticking his music on at full blast. Second had been experimenting with a few new spells he'd been wanting to try for weeks, but not where anyone could see. And third was going to be slumming it in front of the sofa with a big bowl of popcorn, chewing with his mouth open and inevitably getting random kernels down the back of the couch.

Problem was, he couldn't find the popcorn.

Chris yanked open another cupboard, standing on tiptoe to root around on the top shelf. A couple of packet of biscuits, some cereal boxes, but still no popcorn. Knowing Mom she'd thrown it out.

He eyed the potion cupboards, wondering if it was worth a look, then decided to opt for the easier root.

"Popcorn."

He held his hand out, but nothing appeared. Repeating the command didn't yield any better results and Chris swore. They probably had some at the corner shop… but that was all the way down the road and he couldn't be bothered. Biscuits would have to do. Or maybe there were some potato chips –

A hard knock on the back door made him jump. People were always dropping around the house, but nine times out of ten they used the front door. Or no door at all. Demons and family members were usually of the "no door needed" variety, so that left neighbours, salesmen or a random stranger. Chris hoped it was a salesman; they were by far the easiest to get rid of.

It wasn't a salesman. It was Warren Trent, dressed in jeans and a white shirt, football jacket hung casually over one shoulder, not a hair out of place.

Warren looked him up and down, that familiar supercilious expression on his face.

"Not the Halliwell I was looking for, but I guess you'll do."

"What do you want?"

"What do I want…"

Chris sighed. "Hurry it up. I've got places to be."

"So _unfriendly_ there… is that any way to greet a guest?"

"You're not my guest," Chris said flatly.

"I've been Wyatt's often enough. And your Mom's."

The inference there made Chris snap, "Well she's not here right not, so there's really no reason for you to be either."

A muscle twitched in Warren's jaw. "Careful, Halliwell."

"Or what?" Chris demanded, suddenly strangely fired up. Warren was here, at Chris's _home_, getting in his face. For some reason that was ten times worse than when he confronted Chris at school. Like some kind of – of personal violation. It didn't make him angry exactly, but did make him wonder why he'd been shrugging off Warren's behaviour for such a long time. The whole passive-aggressive-ignoring-dismissing tactic wasn't him and it obviously wasn't working. Warren was still around, so maybe it was time to change tack and start having some fun.

"You'll start following me around like a stray puppy begging for some food? Get all red in the face when I won't pay you any attention? Oh wait – you do all that already. Better be careful yourself, Warren – people will start to talk."

The sarcasm clearly floored Warren and sent a surge of exhilaration through Chris. _This _was how to handle Warren Trent!

"I'm flattered, honestly, I mean – who wouldn't be? You're an attractive guy. But I just – I don't feel the same way." He pressed a demure hand to his chest. "I'm sorry Warren, but this obsession has to stop."

And there it was. The fatal accusation that all guys feared: that they played for the other team. For someone like Warren, who wafted his masculinity in everyone's faces, it was the ultimate insult. To Chris, it was the ultimate revenge.

"What are you – obsession? I'm not – I don't… It's not about _that _you sick bas –"

"It's time to be honest Warren. It's okay to feel this way. There's nothing wrong with you. But this," he gestured between them, "this is never going to happen. I need you to understand that so, you know, the stalking will stop. School's one thing, but home visits? That's going too far."

"You're delusional – I'm not here for you!" Warren snarled. "Where's your brother?"

"So it's _Wyatt_, is it? Not sure what he'll say about that –"

"Where's your brother, you little smart-ass?" Warren tried to force his way past Chris into the manor.

Chris lounged against the doorframe. "Oh didn't I say? Wyatt's out too. So it's just you and me. Alone." He sighed dramatically. "What _will _the neighbours say?"

Warren took a step back. He was breathing heavily and seemed to be making an immense effort to keep himself calm. "So this is how it's going to be."

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about."

"You got in a few lucky blows on home territory so you're feeling cocky. But we're back at school tomorrow. _My _territory. And I've got a _really_ good memory."

"It's a date."

"And just so we're clear…" his voice dropped down to a whisper, "… I like hurting you, Halliwell. I like seeing your face go all white and tense. I like making you scared of your own shadow. _That's _why you'll be seeing me tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. Because you're my daily entertainment."

To hear it laid out so baldly like that was… kind of chilling, Chris admitted reluctantly. Behind the bluster there was genuine intent there. Intent to hurt him. He began to regret the sarcasm – no matter how good it felt, he'd probably just made things ten times worse.

Yet despite that, he couldn't help calling after Warren as the older boy disappeared around the side of the house.

"I'll tell Wyatt you said hi, yeah?"

Oh yeah, it felt good alright. Hell, it was worth anything it brought.

* * *

><p>A hand shoved him between the shoulder blades.<p>

Chris went sprawling, bag going one way, books the other, feet sliding out from under him as he tumbled down the steps. Years of being tossed about by demons served him well and he curled his body into a ball to protect his head from damage. When the world had finally stopped spinning, he was lying by the fire escape, looking up at Warren Trent.

Chris pushed sweaty hair out of his eyes and struggled upright. He'd been expecting something like this for a while now, ever since Wyatt had been named captain of the football team. It was no secret Warren had been expecting the position – and wasn't exactly being humble in defeat – but he couldn't touch Wyatt Halliwell himself could he? Oh no, not Captain Popular. People would talk. No, Chris was a fitting substitute. Same surname, none of the backlash.

Warren came down the stairs slowly, giving Chris's bag a casual kick as he passed. Chris struggled to his feet, trying to ignore the way his elbow and side were smarting. He wouldn't give Warren the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

"Good technique, but I'll have to deduct points for unoriginality."

Warren stopped on the bottom step. "I like the classics."

"Well they have their place sure, but I was expecting more from you. Honestly, Warren, I'm… I'm disappointed."

"Disappointed – ? I'm sorry, did I _ask _for your approval, Halliwell?"

"I'm just giving you some constructive criticism. You do want to develop into a first class cliché, don't you?" He stepped around Warren and picked up his biology textbook. It felt heavy and reassuring in his hands and for a moment he entertained the thought of swinging it at Warren's head.

Warren grabbed his arm, squeezing so tightly that if there wasn't already a bruise there from the fall then there would be one soon. "There's that smart mouth again, Halliwell. Not a good move, you know that."

Oh yeah, experience had made that one crystalclear. But it was just so entertaining that Chris couldn't stop himself.

"You listening to me?" Warren demanded.

"With both ears."

The hand on Chris's arm tightened. "I don't think you're taking me seriously enough."

"Oh, wow, what gave you that impression?"

Warren ripped the book out of his hands and threw it on the floor again. "I'm not messing around here, Halliwell. You don't wanna piss me off." He pointed at the fallen textbook. "Pick it up."

Chris looked down at the book and then back up again. "You pick it up."

Warren grabbed his hair and forced his head down until his nose was inches from the shiny cover of _Biology 101_. "Pick it up."

His back was bent over awkwardly and it hurt – it _really_ hurt. Chris tried to throw Warren off but the older boy was too strong. _You have no idea what I could do to you with just the wave of a hand_, Chris thought darkly. He'd been tempted before but my _God_ he was tempted now. To wipe that self-satisfied smirk off Warren's face –

Instead, he reached down slowly and picked up the book. The pressure on his back instantly lessened.

"Wyatt said you were smart. Looks like he's right."

The mention of his brother's name was like being doused in cold water. Wyatt. Everything always came back to Wyatt. Anger, hot and addictive rose up inside him, demanding attention. He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Wyatt. He wouldn't even be on Warren's radar if it wasn't for Wyatt. In fact, when you thought about it, this was all his brother's fault.

The encounter ended in much the same way as those before it and Chris left feeling angry and frustrated. As fun as taunting Warren could be, Chris was getting sick of having to hide bruises and always feeling like he was on the losing side. Passive aggressive had bombed; sarcasm's success was waning… maybe it was time to turn the tables once again.

It was only when he slipped into his seat in class when the idea struck him. He was sitting next to Kitty Edmonds, a pretty red-head with the sweetest disposition of anyone he knew. She was also a terrible gossip.

He made a show of trying to catch his breath, pushing messy hair out of his eyes. Obligingly, Kitty asked if he was okay.

"Yeah, just had a bit of a weird run-in with Warren Trent."

"The senior?" Kitty's face lit up, proving that nice girls still had really bad taste. "What happened?"

"I think…" Chris paused for effect,"… he asked me out."

Kitty's brown eyes grew so big they almost popped out of her head. "Warren's _gay_?" she gasped.

Chris shrugged in a non-committal fashion.

"I guess that explains why he has such lovely hair…" Kitty remarked mournfully. "What a _waste_!"

As Miss Weatherville called the class to order, Chris sat back in his chair and allowed himself to smile.

* * *

><p>Just for a second, there was pressure. A finger's touch along one arm, dragging him out of the darkness.<p>

"Hey little brother."

And a voice – an achingly familiar voice. Chris smiled. He knew that voice. That voice was important to him. That voice was… was… who was that voice?

"Look you have to wake up now, okay? This isn't funny anymore. I – we need you. So, uh, just wake up. Please."

Wake up? He was asleep now? Asleep… yes, that would explain the way his thoughts were slipping and sliding. He was dreaming. Dreaming the voice?

That touch came again and he almost felt it this time. He was so close to the surface, if he could only reach out and –

"Look, if you can't do this for me then do it for Mom okay? She's – she's not doing so good."

Mom. A small woman with dark hair. Yes, that was right… wasn't it?

Maybe. He wasn't sure. That slight flash of insight had faded and his head felt muggy. The voice said something else and he wanted to reply, but it took too much effort and his mouth wouldn't work properly. Far easier to just lie back and embrace the darkness.


	5. Chapter Five: Wyatt

**Chapter Five – Wyatt**

The next few days passed in a rush of white-coated doctors and surgically clean corridors. Chris made it through the surgery successfully and they installed him in a private room on the second floor, complete with flowery curtains and a cheerful yellow bedspread.

Chris would have hated it, if he'd been awake to have an opinion.

Because that was the problem: he wasn't awake. The doctors didn't seem particularly concerned – they had mentioned several times that Chris's body needed time to heal from the trauma of the attack – but that suggestion was losing credibility in Wyatt's mind with each day that passed. The surgery had gone smoothly and his wound was healing. There was no infection and beyond the bruising he'd suffered from the attack, no other injuries. His levels were all stable, he was breathing on his own… there was absolutely no reason why he shouldn't be spitting sarcasm at the nurses, sulking and generally driving everyone crazy.

But he wasn't. He was still and silent.

In response, life had fallen into a routine. Wake up. Force down some breakfast and try to ignore the growing tension between his parents. Orb to the hospital to check on Chris. Listen to Mom taking out her anger on the doctors, demanding answers. Dodge Dad's gentle attempts to get him to open up and talk. Avoid meeting Melinda's upset, accusing gaze as they sat either side of their brother's bed with nothing to do but wait.

Sunday dawned no differently, except Melinda had been shipped off to their uncle and aunt's house and both of Wyatt's parents had gone to speak to the doctors. Which left Wyatt alone in Chris's room, with plenty of time to think.

It was something he'd tried to avoid doing over the last five days, although events had had other ideas. First his family had wanted a full explanation of what he'd seen, and then the police had come to take an official statement. Even then he hadn't had much to say. Beyond the bright light, the police had spent more time at the crime scene than he had.

Crime scene. God, just thinking those words made him feel sick. With everything that had happened with Chris, Wyatt hadn't really had time to process the fact that three of his teammates were dead. They hadn't been close friends exactly, but they'd run in the same crowd. He'd been over at Warren's house just last week. He sat – had sat – behind Austin in American Lit. That they wouldn't be there when he walked into school tomorrow left him with a hollow feeling inside that he couldn't quite define.

The events kept spiralling around in his mind, like a movie strip stuck on fast forward. That flash of light, dazzling against the darkening sky. The marks on Austin's skin. The angle of Jake's neck. The look on Warren's face as he'd died. And Chris – Chris, with blood staining his stomach and trickling out of his mouth, unconscious and still. Bruised. Bleeding. Attacked. Stabbed.

The more Wyatt thought about it, the more questions he had. What had they all been doing there in the first place? What had caused the explosion? And what the hell had happened to Chris? Who had hurt his brother? Had it really been Warren, Austin and Jake?

Wyatt leaned forward, arms folded on the edge of the bed and chin resting on his hands. He wished he knew what was going on inside his brother's head. The doctors had been encouraging them to talk to Chris, saying that he just might hear them. Wyatt wasn't sure about all that, but maybe it was worth a try.

He touched Chris's arm with one finger. "Hey little brother."

The words sounded awkward. Wyatt cleared his throat. "Look you have to wake up now, okay? This isn't funny anymore. I – we need you. So, uh, just wake up. Please."

There was no response. Not that he'd been expecting one, but still… there'd been that tiny kernel of hope that Chris would magically wake up at the sound of this voice. It sounded stupid, but crazier things had happened in his life.

"Look, if you can't do this for me then do it for Mom okay? She's – she's not doing so good."

Even the Mom card didn't work. Wyatt patted Chris's arm once more and then sat back as the door unexpectedly opened behind him.

He glanced across to see that two newcomers had stopped just inside the doorway and were hovering awkwardly – a black boy and a girl with a mass of curly hair. He vaguely recognised them from school.

"Sorry," the boy offered. "We didn't know anyone was in here."

Wyatt waved the apology away. "S'okay. I was just thinking."

"How's he doing?" The boy moved across to the bed. The girl stood at the end, arms folded across her chest.

"He's stable," Wyatt parroted what the doctors had been saying every time his family asked. "Just unconscious still."

"We can see that," the girl remarked.

Hostility was rolling off her in waves. She was obviously upset about Chris, but she seemed angry too. At him. Wyatt couldn't understand it – he didn't even _know_ her.

"I'm guessing you're Chris's friends?"

The girl laughed shortly. The boy just nodded. "Yeah. I'm Devon – this is Emily."

"We've met before," the girl told him, adding pointedly, "several times. Oh and we go to the same school."

"Em, lay off," Devon said mildly.

"No, I'm sorry." Wyatt ran a hand over his face. "It's been a long couple of days."

"Understandable, man."

Emily snorted and turned away to the window. Devon slid into the chair opposite Wyatt's and studied Chris. The silence was awkward and Wyatt searched around for something to say. "Did you hear what happened?" he asked eventually.

"It's all over school." Devon said quietly. "Plus, you know, cops asking questions. Lots of crazy theories about what actually happened though. You found them?"

Wyatt nodded. He could sense Devon waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking to him for answers. His parents, his aunts, the cops…

Wyatt himself.

Devon cleared his throat self-consciously. "Sorry man. That's harsh."

"Good riddance," Emily muttered, her back to them

It took a moment for Wyatt to realise what she meant. When he did, a surge of anger swept through him. She was _glad _Warren and the others were dead? What kind of person was she to say something like that?

"They were my friends," Wyatt said stiffly. "You could show some respect."

She turned slowly. "I'll give respect to people who deserve it. Warren Trent doesn't."

How could Chris be friends with someone like this? "I think you should leave," he told Emily angrily.

Devon half-rose. "Hey, hold on a sec guys –"

"They attacked your brother," Emily interrupted. "And Warren stabbed him. Still think he deserves respect?"

Her words were pitiless, tone mocking. Wyatt dug his fingernails into his palms. "You don't know that," he argued. "You don't know what happened or who hurt Chris. No one does." _There's got to be another explanation. They wouldn't do that. Not to my brother. There's no reason and they just – just _wouldn't.

"Look at him!" Emily shouted, jabbing a finger in Chris's direction. "Those bruises? They didn't just miraculously appear. That knife didn't imbed itself in his stomach. Someone did that to Chris. Someone with a grudge and a point to prove. Hmm, who fits that description? Oh yeah – Warren Trent. And who was found in the vicinity? Oh yeah – _Warren Trent_. Seeing a theme there yet?"

Devon shoved his chair back with a scrape of metal. "Emily, _enough_."

They locked gazes, staring each other down and then Emily slumped back against the wall, arms folded. Devon returned to his chair.

Wyatt barely noticed. Emily's words had drawn his focus back onto Chris and now he couldn't look away. Yellowing bruises marked the left-hand side of his little brother's face, trailing down his neck and disappearing under the hospital gown. His right eye was swollen shut and his lower lip was puffy. The knife wound and subsequent surgery work was hidden beneath the blanket, but Wyatt knew it was there. Along with more bruising, like the dark, almost purple mark on Chris's right arm.

He didn't want to believe Emily. Warren could be a bit of a bully, sure – but there was a massive step between roughing people up a bit and what had been done to Chris. Besides, Warren didn't even _know_ Chris; beyond him being Wyatt's little brother and going to the same school, they had nothing in common. Chris didn't hang out in the same group, he wasn't into sports. He and Warren had probably only met a handful of times so why would Warren attack him?

_Did Warren really do this? Is he the reason Chris is here? Is Emily right?_

"You still don't see it, do you?" Wyatt jerked his head around to find Emily scrutinizing him. She shook her head. "Even now you're still telling yourself I'm wrong."

"I just –" Frustrated at his inability to get things straight in his head, Wyatt rubbed his forehead. He tried again. "They didn't know each other, not really. Warren had no reason to hurt him."

"Didn't know – God, where have you been? Warren's being going after Chris for months!"

"What?"

"Warren has been going after Chris for months," Emily repeated, drawing each word out slowly as if she was speaking to a small child. "Baiting him. Taunting him, Bullying him. Oh and recently? He started throwing hitting into the bargain. Fun guy. Little unoriginal though."

When Devon didn't deny it, the protests that had been rising to Wyatt's lips rolled over and died. He didn't know Emily; she could be lying. Or at least exaggerating. Part of him clung desperately to that idea because if it wasn't true then that meant Chris had been suffering for months and he'd been completely oblivious. What kind of a brother did that make him?

"Chris, er… he pissed Warren off one day. Got on his radar. But Chris wouldn't back down when Warren challenged him so…" Devon shrugged, mouth curling downwards at the edges. "Warren didn't like that. So they kept clashing. And then Chris started that rumour… we warned him, tried to help, but – but he's stubborn."

They weren't lying; he could hear the sincerity behind the words. This had really happened… and he'd known nothing about it. He should have noticed. He should have been there to stop it. He shouldn't be sitting here, being told such important things about Chris's life by two strangers. He should _know_.

"Why didn't he tell me? I could have helped."

"He didn't want your help, man. Made that perfectly clear."

The blows just kept coming. Not only had Chris kept all of this from him, but he'd actively fought against involving Wyatt. Like Wyatt would make things worse, or something. Or wouldn't be interested. Why would he think that?

God, did he really know his brother at all?

"Sorry," Devon added awkwardly, obviously reading something in Wyatt's face. "Like I said, he's just… stubborn."

"I could have helped," Wyatt repeated, eyes returning to Chris. The ugly bruise on his cheekbone had bloomed over the last couple of days. Someone had done that to his little brother. _Warren _had done that to his little brother. Maybe. "You said – you said something about a rumour?"

"Ah, yeah." The seat creaked as Devon shifted around. "The one about Warren being, um, gay."

"_Chris _started that?"

He'd heard that one a few weeks ago. Laughed it off with the guys. Then he'd seen how angry Warren looked and had asked the others not to mention it again. He'd never imagined something like that could come from Chris. His brother wasn't the petty, malicious type. That he would start something like that… how desperate had he been?

"Why didn't he just come to me?"

He wasn't really asking them, but Emily answered anyway. "Because you're Wyatt Halliwell."

She said it so matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything. Reid had said that too, he remembered distantly, back before Chris had been hurt. Like his name carried some kind of special weight. But no one at school knew he was the Twice Blessed Child or even a witch, so why all the agro?

"What does that even mean?" he demanded.

Emily started ticking items off on her fingers like she was writing a shopping list. "It means you're Mr Perfect. It means he'd never live it down if he went running to you for help. It means Warren could safely take out his jealously of you on Chris."

"Warren's not jealous of me," Wyatt said blankly.

Emily shook her head. "You really are blind. _Everyone's _jealous of you, just Warren a bit more than most. He can't get at you so he takes his frustrations out on a convenient substitute."

"So you're saying this happened to Chris because of me? That this is _my _fault?"

Devon once again tried to diffuse the growing tension. "Maybe at first. But when Chris wouldn't just back down and let Warren beat on him, Warren became obsessed."

Wyatt ignored him. "That's why you're so mad, isn't it?" he demanded of Emily. "You blame me for what happened to Chris."

She shot him a withering look. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm angry because my best friend was attacked by a bunch of mindless thugs that you're _still _defending."

Was he defending them? Wyatt couldn't tell anymore. His head was spinning around so fast it was in danger of falling off. That there had been trouble between Warren and Chris was hard to deny after what he'd just been told. And hell – he'd heard the rumour himself. But to lay an ambush, beat someone to a pulp and then stab them – Wyatt swallowed hard. He wouldn't have thought Warren capable of that. Maybe Emily was just jumping to conclusions based on a few sketchy facts. After all, there could have been someone else there that evening – someone who'd run away after the explosion. No one knew for sure.

It felt like clutching at straws. Any moment now he'd unclench his hands and they'd fall through his fingers.

"You don't know Warren did this," he found himself saying. "You weren't there – you don't know what happened."

"I can make an educated guess."

"Without any facts to support it!"

"I know more than you do," she countered, surprising him. "Yeah, didn't see that coming did you? My mom used to babysit for Reid Grant. I got a first-hand account. Turns out Reid noticed a couple of things _you_ haven't mentioned – like how Warren's knuckles were all bruised and bloody from where he'd been pummelling your brother." She cocked her head to one side. "And before you think it, even I know you don't get those kinds of injuries from playing football."

Reid… he hadn't spoken to his friend since the attack. It had never occurred to him that Reid might have spotted something he'd missed.

"Still believe Warren's innocent now?"

Devon slammed his hand down on the rail at the edge of Chris's bed, startling them both. "Alright guys, that's it – seriously, leave it alone. Chris is what's important here, remember? Not who's right or who's wrong. This isn't a pissing content. Get your priorities straight."

Emily drew herself up, but then her eyes fell on Chris and her expression twisted. Just for a second Wyatt saw the girl beneath the anger and how scared she was for his brother. And just how much she cared about Chris. She was here for the same reason he was. Devon was right; they shouldn't be arguing right now.

"I knew this was going to happen," Emily said abruptly. "I knew and I – someone should have stopped it."

She was feeling guilty too, Wyatt realised then. Guilty because she'd known and hadn't done anything. And he felt guilty because he hadn't known and hadn't had the chance to do anything. There was some kind of twisted irony in that.

"Em, he didn't want our help," Devon said wearily, with the air of someone who was tired of repeating himself.

"Doesn't matter. We still should have given it."

No one spoke after that. There was nothing left to say.

* * *

><p>Devon and Emily didn't stay long. Devon said he had to go help his mom. Emily didn't offer an excuse. Wyatt knew they were lying. They didn't want to spend any more time in the same room as him. He wasn't sorry when they left.<p>

Everything they'd told him… it had been so hard to hear. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't, because if he did then Warren had tried to kill his little brother. And that – that was just unthinkable. If only he'd been closer when the explosion had happened – if only he knew what had _really _happened. All the second guessing was beginning to drive him mad.

The door opening for a second time provided a welcome distraction from the churning mess inside. For a moment he thought it was Emily and Devon returning, but then he caught sight of a familiar smile. Aunt Phoebe, dressed smartly, a bag tucked under her arm, like she'd been out somewhere.

"Hey, honey, I thought you'd be here. How're you doing?"

She came around the bed and wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his hair. He was too old for this really, but just for a moment he clung to the comfort his aunt offered. She released him a breath before he became uncomfortable and then took the other chair, drawing it around the bed so that they were sitting side by side.

Wyatt could feel her eyes on him. He cleared his throat. "Uh, Mom was looking for you earlier. She tried your cell –"

"I was at a book signing over in Union Square."

"Lots of people?"

"Yes and it was lovely, but you don't really care about my booking signing, do you Wyatt?" When he looked at her with wide eyes, she smiled. "Something's happened."

Wyatt shifted under her scrutiny. "Why would you say that?"

"Wyatt, your emotions are practically screaming at me," she told him gently. "You're upset."

Wyatt grimaced. Having an Empath in the family could be a real pain sometimes. "Chris still hasn't woken up," he offered. It wasn't exactly a lie – he _was_ still horribly worried about Chris, despite the doctors' repeated assertions that he was stable.

Aunt Phoebe wasn't biting. "No… it's more than that." She took his hand. "Tell me about it?"

Wyatt wavered. Aunt Phoebe was a great listener. It was kind of a no-brainer considering she was an advice columnist with empathic powers, but she was still the best person to come to when you had a problem. But discussing this… it would make everything real. And Wyatt wasn't sure if he could handle that yet.

"I, uh, I just…" He trailed off. "I – I can't, I'm sorry."

"Oh honey, you've got nothing to apologise for." She squeezed his hand. "We can just talk about… ooh, how about this really cute guy who tried to hit on me at the book signing?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

Despite himself, Wyatt laughed. Aunt Phoebe's flirting was a running joke in the family. It had developed in response to the way Uncle Coop – as both a Cupid and a particularly handsome guy – attracted women wherever he went, even after he and Aunt Phoebe got married. As the story went, Aunt Phoebe had decided that instead of being hurt by the inevitable attention, she would fight fire with fire and prove she had what it took to compete with her husband – which meant gathering as many cell numbers as possible. It was all harmless fun and they didn't do it so much since they'd had PJ and her sisters, but every now and again Aunt Phoebe liked to remind her husband that she still had it in her.

"Did you get his number?"

His aunt smiled secretively. "Maybe. Maybe I'll call him too."

It was an empty threat and they both knew it. Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Coop were utterly devoted to each other – sickeningly so, his Aunt Paige often complained.

Wyatt settled more comfortably into his chair. There was something about being in Aunt Phoebe's company that was inherently relaxing. Maybe it was her ability to be unobtrusive; to just sit quietly and allow him to be lost in his own thoughts. To speak when he was ready, not always be chased for answers. After the last few days it came as a welcome relief.

A couple of minutes passed in companionable silence. Aunt Phoebe rose at one point and went to perch on the bed beside Chris. She whispered something Wyatt couldn't hear and then bent down to press a kiss to her nephew's forehead. Wyatt watched his brother carefully and was oddly disappointed when Chris remained comatose, though what he'd expected Aunt Phoebe to do he wasn't sure. It was something he'd come to rely on; that his mom and aunts would somehow find a way to save the day. That they hadn't been able to with Chris was… disconcerting.

And his fault? Melinda's words flash through his mind, cutting down to the bone. Intellectually he knew she'd just been upset, but sometimes people were at their most honest when their emotions were flowing freely. And really, she had a point. He'd done things the mortal way and Chris was lying in a hospital bed, unconscious. If he'd just _thought_ for a second and called Aunt Paige –

"Wyatt, you have to stop blaming yourself."

He jumped. Aunt Phoebe had slipped back into her chair and was watching him with big, serious eyes.

"You made a choice based on the information that you had at that particular time. You hadn't found Chris and three of your human friends were injured… so you called the cops. Any of us would have done the same. What your sister said – please don't take that to heart, sweetie. She was just overwhelmed. Paige shouldn't have brought her to the hospital in the first place."

Wyatt shook his head. "It's not just that –" He stopped.

"Then what else is it?" When he didn't answer, his aunt continued, "Perhaps if you explained it to me…?"

"I have to know what happened," he blurted.

Aunt Phoebe leaned forward slightly. "You mean to Chris?"

He nodded.

"We all want to know that honey, but –"

"No – I mean, I _have_ to know, Aunt Phoebe. I have to. I – Devon and Emily said that Warren, and – and I have to know for sure."

"What did Devon and Emily say?"

Wyatt's hands twisted in his lap. "That Warren stabbed Chris," he explained reluctantly. "Warren, he's – he's one of the guys who…"

Aunt Phoebe nodded, although he suspected she'd already known that. "Why would Devon and Emily think that?"

"Because apparently Warren's been picking on Chris for months now." Wyatt's eyes drifted across to his brother's bruised face and the guilt inside him grew so thick he almost choked. "I – I didn't know."

"And what do you think?"

"I… I don't know! Warren, we grew up together – how could he? But then if he didn't, what was he doing there? And who did attack Chris? I need… I just need to know what happened." He stood up suddenly and started pacing. The movement gave him chance to think, to pull all of his confused thoughts into line. "If it's true about the bullying then why didn't Chris tell me? Why didn't I know?"

Aunt Phoebe stared at him, a line forming between her eyes. "And that's where the guilt's really coming from, isn't it?" she guessed. "You blame yourself for what happened to Chris. You feel… you should have seen this coming somehow."

It was unsettling how accurate she was. "Why didn't I know?" he beseeched her, suddenly desperate for an answer. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"Oh honey, you know what Chris is like. He likes to handle everything himself. It's not a reflection on your relationship –"

"No, you're wrong." Wyatt turned to the window. The day outside was beautiful, the blue sky mocking him with its cheerfulness. "He should have been able to tell me. I could have stopped this."

"You are so much like your mom sometimes." Surprised, he turned around. Aunt Phoebe was smiling at him fondly. "Trying to take on everyone else's burdens. I know it's hard to accept, but you can't be responsible for the actions of the people around you. We all make decisions that shape our lives and we do that independently. Chris made a decision when he chose to handle this situation with Warren himself. Warren made a decision when he chose to force a confrontation. And you're making a decision right now to address whatever difficulties there are in your relationship with your brother." She rose and came across to him, taking both of his hands. "Hindsight is a wonderful thing. It's also dangerous; it makes us regret, and punish and second-guess. Don't give into that guilt, Wyatt. Turn it around and learn from your experiences." Her smile turned wiry. "Besides, even if you and Chris were the best of friends, do you really think he would have told you? _Really_?"

_No_, Wyatt thought. _He wouldn't_. Because Aunt Phoebe was right. Chris was all about the independence. No matter how close he and Wyatt were, Chris would have seen Warren as _his_ problem.

It helped, a little.

She squeezed his hands. "Better?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Thanks."

"You know I normally charge for that much wisdom." At his incredulous expression, she laughed. "Don't worry; family's on the house." She paused then, hands still in his, eyes searching his face. "Now, what else is going on in that head of yours, hmm?"

He looked down at his sneakers. The right one was scuffed. Mom would usually pull him up on things like that, but at the moment… "I'm having a hard time believing that Warren – that he would do that to Chris," he admitted reluctantly. "I know it's really the only explanation that makes sense, but I… I just don't understand it."

"Well… perhaps Warren didn't mean to," his aunt suggested.

His gaze flew upwards again. "What do you mean?"

"Wyatt, sometimes we get caught up in the moment and say, or do, things that we don't mean. That we weren't intending to do."

"So… it could have been an accident. Chris being – stabbed."

Aunt Phoebe sighed. "None of us can know that for sure, sweetie. But yes, I would imagine it's a possibility. When emotions are running high, it's very easy to get carried away." She squeezed his hands once more and then let them go, returning to her seat beside Chris's bed. "And sometimes the consequences can be severe."

An accident. Okay. Maybe. But someone had still taken the knife to school that day. Someone had still held it in their hand. So the intention had been there, even if the actual act had been a mistake. Pre-meditated – that was what they called it.

Someone. Warren? Austin? Jake? All three of them together?

"Can you help me find out what really happened?" he asked abruptly. "I mean, isn't there a spell or something…?"

Aunt Phoebe considered him for a long moment. "You understand that what you learn isn't likely to change anything. If anything, it could make things worse."

"So there _is_ a spell."

"Not exactly – Wyatt, just think about this for a second. What if you do discover that your friend attacked Chris? How will that make you feel?"

Horrible. Guilty. Betrayed. All of the above. But also relieved. And finally able to understand. To _know_.

He faced her squarely. "I can handle it."

She held his gaze for several more long seconds and then stood up, smoothing down her trousers. "Okay. I'll see what I can do, but you have to promise me something in return. Promise you'll go home and get some rest."

"I want to come with you."

"That's not necessary."

"But I can orb us home and then we can check the book –"

"No Wyatt."

"Aunt Phoebe, I need to _do _something! I can't just wait around for you –"

She put her hands on his shoulders. "Honey, I'm going to try and get a premonition, okay? You won't see anything. And even if I could share it with you, I wouldn't."

"But –"

"Do you really want to watch this happen to your brother? To feel his pain?"

Wyatt blanched, suddenly realising the significance of what his aunt had said. Her premonitions could be harrowing at the best of times, but to have to witness his brother's fear and pain first hand… Wyatt couldn't have done it.

Aunt Phoebe gave his shoulders a gentle push. "Go home. Get some rest. I've got this."

She opened the door and paused, hand on the handle. "And Wyatt, whatever happens… this wasn't your fault."

She was gone before he could respond.


	6. Chapter Six: Melinda

**A/N: **Wow - just looked at the stats for this story and the visitor/review ratio makes for painful reading. Either all my lovely readers have lost their fingers in freak typing accidents, or this is the least thought-provoking story ever. It seems to be a bit of an unfortunate trend here on Fanfiction lately; people seemed a lot less inclined to review a story than they used to be. Not sure what's brought on this change, but if there are a few more eager readers out there who would like to share their thoughts, or suggest ideas about the direction of this story, then please don't hold back. Even if you're hating it, I'd love to hear from you!

That said, as always huge thanks goes to those people that have reviewed - it's your enthusiasm that's keeping this story going :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six – Melinda<strong>

Prue laid her final card down triumphantly and sat back. "I win again!"

Melinda stared out of the window and didn't reply. They were in her bedroom at the manor, thrown together in an after-school "playdate". Mel wasn't really sure why – she'd heard that Aunt Phoebe was off somewhere, but there was still Uncle Coop surely? – but whatever the reason, her room had been invaded by her irritating cousin just when she really wanted to be alone.

Prudence Johnna Halliwell was eight months younger than Mel and always had to be the best at everything. She was also half witch and half cupid – or a Wupid, as Chris liked to call her – which she seemed to think made her special in some way. In a family that was full of magical beings with amazing abilities, Mel thought that was a pretty stupid opinion to have.

Prue gathered up the cards, making sure they were all facing the right way up. "I've won five times now," she announced. "And you've won two. So I'm the best."

Normally Melinda would have argued with her. Normally she would have won more than two games. But right now… right now there were important things going on than a contest with her cousin.

Everything was falling apart. Chris was still asleep and something had gone wrong between Mom and Dad because they were barely speaking. Mom spent most of her time at the hospital and Dad at Magic School, and even when they were both at home it was so awkward that Melinda usually found a reason to leave quickly. Wyatt stayed in his room, door firmly shut. They hadn't had a proper conversation since Mel's outburst at the hospital and she didn't know what to do to make things right again. It wasn't Wyatt's fault; she knew that now. She'd just been angry and frightened and Wyatt had been _right there _–

"Want to play again?"

Melinda jumped, turning from not-watching Mrs Elwell watering her lawn in the fading light to find Prue offering the cards to her. She shook her head. "You play."

"I can't play on my own," Prue pointed out.

"So do something else."

"I'm your guest. You're supposed to play with me."

"Well I don't want you here," Melinda declared, feeling a bit mean when Prue's face fell, but not mean enough to apologise.

"I didn't ask to be here," Prue said sullenly, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulders and making the bed bounce. "It's boring. I want to go home."

_Then go_, Melinda thought. _Leave me alone_.

"I'm bored… where's your PSP2?" Prue turned onto her stomach and squirmed to the edge of the bed. "Under here?"

Mel was about to reply when a door slammed downstairs, so hard that it made the picture frames on her windowsill wobble. The girls exchanged nervous looks and then ventured out onto the landing. Heavy footsteps sounded from down in the hall.

"You went behind my back, Piper!"

It was her dad. Her dad was shouting. Dad never shouted. Not really. Sure, he and Mom argued sometimes and Mom could get loud and angry, but Dad never did. What was going on? Melinda edged to the top of the stairs and peered over the bannister. Prue joined her, looking through the slats. Her parents were in the hall below, Mom nearest the kitchen, cleaning her hands on a dishcloth and Dad just visible by the lounge.

"I just spoke to Henry. He told me how sorry he was that Paige hadn't been able to heal Chris." Dad folded his arms across his chest. "I had to pretend I knew what he was talking about."

"I did what was best for our son."

"By going behind my back? I had to hear this from _Henry_, Piper. Your sister's husband. Do you know what that felt like?"

"You wouldn't listen, so I did what I had to. What was right for Chris."

"_I _wouldn't listen? You can't just make decisions like this on your own, Piper. It's selfish and worse, it's irresponsible. The risk of exposure –"

"Screw exposure!" Mom snapped. "Chris isn't waking up and the doctors don't know why. Now you might be content to sit back and let nature take its course, but I'm going to do everything in my power to help him."

"That's not fair. You know I have to think of the bigger picture –"

"God, you can be so self-righteous sometimes! You're not a Whitelighter anymore, Leo. You're not an Elder or an Avatar or whatever the hell else you've been. There should be no bigger picture for you than your family."

"Of course there isn't – how could you even think that? But, Piper – there are consequences. Rules we have to follow for a reason. You can't just shrug them away because it's convenient."

"Rules, right. Yeah, rules." Mom snorted. "Don't give me that – don't you _dare_ give me that. Not with our past. You sure found it convenient to break the rules then, when it suited you, but when your son needs you, oh no – suddenly we have to play by the book. You're such a hypocrite!"

"I'm trying to keep us all safe!" Dad shouted. "Every time we do this, it spirals out of control. Andy, Prue, Darryl, Inspector Sheridan – do I need to go on?"

All the remaining colour drained out of Mom's face. Dad ran a hand over his mouth. "Piper, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that –"

She held up a hand, not looking at him. "No. Just – just don't."

There was a brief silence. Beside her Prue shifted restlessly, but Melinda couldn't look away from her parents. There was such pain in their faces and the anger behind their words – it frightened her. She'd seen it before, last year, in her friend Abbie Mason's mom and dad. The bitterness and spite building and building until it had exploded in a shower of broken glass. Mom had stopped her going over to their house after that, she remembered, and then –

She suddenly felt sick.

And then Abbie's parents had got a divorce.

Down in the hall, Mom and Dad hadn't moved. Mom was twisting the dishcloth around her finger.

Dad cleared his throat. "Henry said it didn't work, but I… Piper, I need to know for sure."

Mom didn't say anything.

"Please, Piper."

Mom's hands stilled. "There's been no change," she said finally. "Paige says there's nothing there to be healed. There's nothing wrong with him." She raised red-rimmed eyes to meet Dad's and drew herself up. "So this whole conversation is academic."

She moved out of Melinda's sight, back towards the kitchen. Dad sagged against the wall behind him and covered his face with his hands. Feeling like she was intruding on something personal, Melinda retreated to her bedroom, curling up at the head of her bed and hugging her stuffed white lion to her chest.

Prue pulled the door closed behind her and came and sat next to Melinda. She didn't speak, but after a couple of minutes she put her arm around her cousin's shoulders.

* * *

><p>Dinner was horrible.<p>

Mom and Dad were acting as though nothing had happened, but even if Melinda hadn't witnessed the argument, she would have known there was something wrong. They were just too careful with each other – too polite. All can-you-pass-the-salt-please-of-course-would-you-like-some-pepper-too.

She pushed her food around the plate. It was some kind of pasta, but it tasted slimy and sour in her mouth and after a few bites she gave up.

Opposite Wyatt had his head down and didn't seem to share her issues with the food. He was eating steadily, reaching for the salad every now and then, sipping from his glass of Coke. She stared at his blond head, trying to see what he was thinking. It didn't help.

"How was school today?"

The question came out of the blue, making Mel jump and drop her fork with a clatter. It was Dad who had asked. Like Mel, his plate of food was virtually untouched.

Wyatt cleared his throat. "Okay. They, um, they held a memorial assembly for... you know."

"Was it… how was it?"

Wyatt shrugged and didn't reply.

The silence returned. Melinda couldn't stand it. "Mr Wilson gave me an extra-credit project," she blurted.

"That's great honey," Dad said half-heartedly. "What subject?"

"British kings and queens. I get to pick one to research."

"That sounds fun."

"I was thinking I'd do Queen Elizabeth – you know, the one in that old film we watched about the theatre and that writer…" She looked at her dad for clarification but he just shook his head. "Well, yeah, anyway I was thinking of doing her, but then Abbie said _she_ wanted to do Queen Elizabeth, so I remembered that TV series about the king with eight wives and I thought – I thought I'd do him instead…" She was babbling, voice getting faster and faster and higher and higher. "Do you think he's a good choice?"

"I'm sure whatever you decide will be fine."

"Oh, okay."

Melinda gave up and drew an M in the pasta sauce with her finger, watching as it faded away. It was a measure of how messed up things were that no one told her off. She did it again, just to be perverse. Still nothing. She licked the pasta sauce of her finger and then regretted it.

Then, for the second time that evening, the front door slammed shut.

"Piper, are you here? Piper? Leo?"

It was Aunt Phoebe's voice, and it sounded important. Whenever anyone came into the manor sounding like that, it generally meant one thing.

A demon attack.

Instantly the atmosphere in the room changed. Whatever was going on in their personal lives, her parents had always stressed that their magical responsibilities should come first. It was a rule that had been drummed into them as kids when the teasing, hair-pulling, running to Mom and general sibling rivalry had threatened to interrupt their magical studies. Didn't always work of course – but the sentiment was enough to make Mom and Dad actually look at each other for the first time all meal, rise together and then hurry into the hall. Wyatt put down his fork and followed them. Mel went to join them when her elbow clipped her drink, sending the plastic cup clattering to the floor and spilling sticky orange juice across the tiles. She eyed the door, wondering if she could get away with suggesting Wyatt had done it, but even in their distracted state she didn't think her parents would buy that. So she grabbed the cloth from the sink, wiped up the juice as best she could and then went to join the rest of her family.

When Mel rounded the corner into the hall it was clear that whatever Aunt Phoebe was doing there, it wasn't to alert them to a demon attack. She and Aunt Paige were talking to Melinda's parents and as she watched, they led Mom and Dad into the sitting room. Wyatt joined them, perching on the arm of one sofa. Mel hovered uncertainly in the hall. It looked like something interesting was happening. Whenever anything interesting happened, she always got sent to her room.

Aunt Phoebe was saying something about a premonition she wanted to share and Aunt Paige was flicking through the Book of Shadows. She stopped on one page, flicked back a few, then forward one again and finally settled on a page with elaborate script down one side. Mel was reading upside down, but it looked like a spell.

"This it?"

Aunt Phoebe turned away from Mom and studied the elegant writing on the page. "Looks like. Okay, not a Power of Three…" She read the page one more time and then glanced up at Mom and Dad, sitting on the sofa opposite. They looked pale, Melinda noticed. Mom's hands were folded so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white.

"Do it," she said quietly. Dad nodded and a breath or two later, so did Wyatt.

"Right."

The spell was short and not very well written, Melinda thought. She'd never understood why spells had to rhyme – it always resulted in unbalanced sentences and weird words being used. If she tried that in her English Lit class her teacher wouldn't be amused.

As Aunt Phoebe finished the spell and closed the Book of Shadows, the air above the coffee table began to shimmer. A tiny spark of light appeared, expanding outwards, forming a sphere. The sphere hung in the air between them, rotating slowly. Then the milky surface cleared and projected an image that Mel wasn't expecting.

"It's a bathroom…" Mom said slowly. "Why am I looking at a bathroom?"

Aunt Phoebe shushed her and pointed at the sphere. As they watched, the familiar blue and white orbs appeared and coalesced into Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige, both dressed as they were right now…

* * *

><p><em>Phoebe let go of her sister's hand and took a moment to orientate herself. Traveling by orb always left her a bit turned around, even after all these years. Beside her Paige was already peering at their surroundings. Phoebe followed her gaze and wrinkled her nose.<em>

"_Really, Paige? The girl's bathroom?"_

_Paige shrugged. "What? I've only been here a couple of times. And that second time I had food poisoning and –"_

"_I know, I know, I was there." Phoebe automatically checked her hair in the mirror and then stopped when she realised what she was doing. This was _not_ the time._

"_Besides I knew no one else would be here at this time," Paige finished triumphantly._

"_Ever heard of cleaners?"_

_Her sister looked crestfallen. "Oh. Didn't think of that."_

"_C'mon." Phoebe pushed the door open and peered carefully out into the silent corridor beyond. It was deserted. "We need to be quick about this."_

"_Who put you in charge?" Paige grumbled, following her out._

* * *

><p>"Phoebe," Dad interrupted wearily, "is there a point to all this?"<p>

"Sorry, the memory's gone back further than I'd planned…"

"That's magic for you," Aunt Paige quipped with a shrug.

Aunt Phoebe was still watching the sphere, expression grave. "We'll get there soon, guys. I promise."

* * *

><p><em>They headed down the corridor, passing several rows of lockers and the doors to various classrooms. Phoebe reached the end first and turned to her sister, who was lagging behind.<em>

"_What is so fascinating about Spanish class?" she demanded._

_Paige pulled her head out of the empty classroom. "Well, the twins will be coming here next year. I'm thinking I should check it out. You know, see if I approve."_

"_Paige, Wyatt and Chris both go here. They have done for years."_

"_And?"_

"_And do you really think Piper would have let her sons go to a sub-par school?"_

_Paige chewed on her lip. "I guess not..."_

"_It's a good school," Phoebe insisted. "Good grades, good records and a great after-school program – oh now look, you're making me do it to! We have to _focus_, Paige."_

"_I'm just multi-tasking," her sister protested._

You couldn't multitask if your life depended on it_, Phoebe thought uncharitably. "Let's just get this over with."_

* * *

><p><em>That <em>was why the bathroom had looked familiar, Melinda realised. It was the one at Chris and Wyatt's school. Her aunts had gone to Chris and Wyatt's school and Aunt Phoebe had had a premonition… was one of their classmates in danger?

* * *

><p><em>Phoebe took a left and followed the signs towards the science block. The high school was laid out like a cross, with each of the sprawling arms dedicated to a different area of study. All very symmetrical and uniform, it made for a practical, if boring, building. <em>

_Still at least it was easy to navigate around. The science rooms were all on the eastern side, their signs picked out in a soft green. Phoebe followed them until she reached a pair of double-doors leading out into a small courtyard. She pushed at the doors and then stopped, frowning._

"_Locked?" Paige asked._

"_Locked."_

"_Hmm… step aside, Sister."_

_Flexing her fingers like she was about to play a piano concerto, Paige held her hand out. "Lock," she cried. There was a grinding, then a clicking and then the door swung open. _

_Grinning smugly, Paige waved Phoebe through._

_Outside they both stumbled to a halt. Wyatt had described the damage, of course, but hearing about it and seeing it were two very different things. It was… almost indescribable. _

"_Woah." Paige drew the word out over several syllables. "What caused this?"_

"_Wyatt suggested an explosion from one of the labs…" Phoebe remembered, ducking under the yellow scene-of-crime tape and picking her way carefully across the scarred ground. _

"_There are certainly enough broken windows," Paige observed. "Ooh – guard!" She grabbed Phoebe's arm and yanked her back around the corner._

_They both sneaked a look. There was a single cop, his back to them, standing on the edge of the quad._

"_I _told_ you we should have come at the weekend," Paige hissed._

_Phoebe shook her head. "We'd have run into this whatever time we came. Not like they're going to just leave a crime scene open for anyone to wander around…"_

"_It's times like these when I miss Darryl," Paige commented wistfully. She drew herself up and thrust out her chest. "Right. I'll play decoy. You get premonitioning, missy!" _

"_Premonitioning?" Phoebe mouthed as her sister shimmied her way over to the unlucky police officer. She sometimes wondered if Henry knew just how gleefully his wife plunged into situations like this._

* * *

><p>"Is that <em>seriously<em> what my hair looks like from the back?" Aunt Paige wondered. "No one ever thought to mention that?"

"Not the time, Paige," Aunt Phoebe snapped.

Aunt Paige looked faintly embarrassed. "Oh yeah, sorry. Thinking out loud."

* * *

><p><em>While Paige entertained the cop with her best "dumb-blonde" impression, Phoebe quickly scouted the area. There wasn't a lot to work with. Burnt bricks, scorched slabs, broken glass… not exactly prime premonition material. She needed something… ah!<em>

_It was a shred of cloth, a mixture of blue and white, with a familiar looking emblem on one corner. A varsity jacket from one of the dead boys. Snatching it up, Phoebe retreated around the corner. She positioned herself comfortably against one of the walls and then closed her eyes._

_It took a moment for the vision to come, but when it did she was glad she was sitting down. She saw the three boys leaving the locker room – catching a few glimpses of Wyatt in the process – and making their way around to the science block. The largest boy goading the others into going along with his plan. Attacking Chris._

_The violence behind the attack shocked her out of the vision and Phoebe leant her head back against the wall, breathing hard. Premonitions involving family members were always difficult to experience, but this was the worst. The attack had been prolonged and vicious and full of such anger that she could still feel it bubbling beneath her skin. Funny how concerned she'd been about the affect the truth would have on Wyatt, when she'd never considered how it might affect her._

_She crawled to the corner and poked her head around. Paige was twirling a strand of hair around one finger and doing some excellent fake-gum chewing, but the cop was begin to shift uncomfortably, as if he was trying to get rid of her. They were running out of time._

_Phoebe smoothed the piece of fabric out in her palm, composed herself, and then waited for the vision to return._

_She jumped straight back into the action, feeling each blow as if she were the one taking the beating. Gritting her teeth she forced herself to watch the attack, looking for any sign of the knife she knew was coming. And yes – there it was, clenched in the fist of the boy who'd been beating Chris. Driving into Chris's stomach. Warren Trent. Chris's friends had been right._

_Job done, Phoebe was about to pull out when the world exploded with light. She flinched back, hands rising up instinctively to cover her face before remembering it couldn't hurt her. Blinking back tears, she shaded her eyes against the glare._

_Just in time to duck as a body came flying towards her, smacking sickening into the wall she'd been leaning against. Her instincts screamed at her to help the boy, but no – this had already played out. She couldn't change anything. The boy was already dead. She had to see –_

_Phoebe's eyes widened as the scene finally came into focus. _

_That brilliant light… it was coming from Chris._


	7. Chapter Seven: Chris

**Chapter Seven – Chris**

Chris Halliwell woke up slowly. As consciousness returned, he just lay there for a moment, taking stock. His mouth was full of cotton balls, his head hurt, his body was numb and he couldn't remember how he'd ended up here, or even where "here" was.

It was just like that time he'd gotten into Grandpa Victor's liquor cabinet.

Swallowing to moisten his dry throat, he opened his eyes, and then instantly slammed them shut again when the light stabbed at him. He counted to ten and then snuck another glance through his lashes.

The room around him was yellow. Very yellow. That was the first weird thing, because his room had been dark blue the last time he'd checked. So unless Mom had snuck in during the night to redecorate – he wouldn't put it past her; she hated the dark blue – then he wasn't in his bedroom. But that was definitely a mattress under his butt, so he was in a bed of some kind… had there been a party last night or something? The last thing he needed right now was to get busted for missing his curfew.

Also… it looked like a girl's room. He was in a girl's room. No, in a girl's _bed_. Had he – ? Oh man, to have done that and not remember – how much would that suck? Devon and Emily would never let him live it down. If he even told them. Maybe he could hide the humiliation – wait. He was only 16; man, what had he been _thinking_? To not remember was one thing. To get _arrested _for something he couldn't remember was so far across the stupid line that they'd have to invent a new category just for him.

Chris tried to roll over to get a better look at his surroundings, but something inside him protested angrily. In fact, lots of somethings protested and he fell back against the pillow. It wasn't just his head – everything hurt. His face, his arms, his legs and oh God, his stomach. Ow, that really _really _hurt. On a scale of one to ten, we were talking about a 25.

His breath was coming short and fast, which wasn't helping the pain. Lifting the bed covers gingerly, he ran a hand down his chest and then stopped when his fingers brushed something rough. He pushed the covers back, revealing not only the fact that he was wearing a seriously unflattering gown-like thing, but that there was a wad of soft cloth taped to the upper left-hand side of his stomach. He picked at the edge of the tape and leaned forward, trying to see what was beneath. The movement made his stomach muscles clench, which was a _big_ mistake.

Chris's vision whited out for a moment and when it returned, he found himself lying back down on the bed, heart beating so hard he could hear it in echoing inside his head and a growing feeling that he wanted to throw up. Okay, so moving – not such a great idea then. Maybe if he just lay here then things would start making sense…

What did he know? He was in a strange room and a strange gown and a strange bed. There was some kind of wound to his stomach and the rest of him didn't seem to have fared much better. Damn, if he really had lost his virginity then the girl had seriously put him through the wringer.

There was hair in his eyes. Chris reached up carefully to push it back and saw it: the clincher. A needle inserted into the back of his left hand, secured with some more of that tape. The clear tube attached to the needle snaked up and out of sight.

Hospital. He was in a hospital. Chris almost laughed at the revelation; it was so obvious. On the heels of that came a shiver of fear. He was in a hospital. Why was he in a hospital? He'd been injured somehow. An accident? Chris tried to think back but everything was so muggy. Snippets were the best he could come up with; snippets of conversations or just the flash of an image. His family, his friends, school, home, magical training… but no accident. Nothing to explain why he was lying here in a hospital bed, a wad of gauze taped to his stomach and pain every time he moved.

"Oh you're finally _awake_! Wonderful. Your family will be so relieved."

A beaming face entered his line of vision. The woman it belonged to was small and thin, with the golden skin and dark hair that suggested Hispanic origins. She was extremely pretty and Chris shifted, suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he was naked under his flimsy hospital gown.

"My, uh, my family?" The words sounded all raspy, like he hadn't used his voice in days. He cleared his throat. "They're here?"

"Oh not right now, silly – it's the middle of the night!" She bustled around him, doing something he couldn't quite see, and then hummed thoughtfully. "Vitals are looking good… let's check your stitches, shall we?" Before he could object, she'd whipped up the sheets and his gown and was probing the wound. Chris stared fixedly at the ceiling and tried to pretend he was somewhere far, _far_ away.

"Healing up nicely, that's what we like to see." The cheery nurse gave him another blinding smile, which turned rich with sympathy when she added, "Now, how are you feeling?"

_Like crap warmed up_, Chris thought. He paused and then phrased it more politely.

The nurse nodded. "It's perfectly understandable given what happened." Chris was about to ask what _had _happened, when she ploughed onwards. "Still, I can do something about that! Another round of painkillers is just what the doctor ordered."

Smiling at her lame joke, the nurse adjusted something by the head of the bed. Chris craned his neck and saw a large machine with lots of numbers and squiggly lines. When she saw him looking, the nurse patted his hand. "Nothing to worry about there. Like I said, your vitals are fine. Now let's see – ah, there you go. Feel better?"

He did, Chris realised. Better, but also kind of drowsy. Suddenly it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to close his eyes and drift off into oblivion.

* * *

><p>The next time Chris woke, a stranger was peering over him. He started, fight or flight instincts kicking in, a spell rising to his lips. Then he took in the white coat the man was wearing and the stethoscope around his neck and realisation dawned.<p>

"Who –?"

"Dr Emrik," the man said brusquely, taking a chart from the base of the bed. He flipped through several pages, frowning, and then scribbled a note. He snapped the chart back into place and considered Chris. "You're a lucky man, Mr Halliwell. The surgeons were able to repair the damage the knife did to your kidney and the rest of your injuries are superficial. You've been unconscious for somewhat longer than expected, but all of your vital signs are strong and there's no post-op infection… I would imagine you'll be leaving us within the next week or so."

His – what now? Kidney? What about his kidney? All Chris knew about kidneys was that they came in pairs and were vaguely located somewhere in his upper body. Oh and they were on the inside, of course, so how the hell he could have hurt one was swiftly added to the list of questions that were clamouring for attention inside his aching head.

"Your family have been informed that you're awake and Nurse Rivera will be in to check on you shortly. If you have any questions, she'll be able to answer them."

"W-wait!" Chris called, wincing as his dry throat brought a rasp to his voice. He wanted to ask so many things, but the question that came out was, "Why was there a knife in my kidney?"

"Because you were stabbed, Mr Halliwell."

With a swirl of his white coat, Dr Emrik was gone as quickly as he had arrived. Chris stared after him blankly, running the words over and over in his mind.

_Because you were stabbed, Mr Halliwell._

He'd been stabbed. Someone had driven a knife into him. Well into his kidney, to be exact. Well, into his _left_ kidney if you wanted to be really anal about it – Chris took a deep breath and tried not to lose it completely. Freaking out with stiches in his stomach probably wasn't the best idea. But… but someone had _stabbed_ _him_. And it had been bad enough that he needed surgery. He tried to remember what had happened, but everything came up blank. Had he been at school? At home? No that was stupid, how could someone have stabbed him at home? Unless – unless this was magical. Unless it had been a demon… No, that made no sense either – anything magical would have been dealt with then and there. Aunt Paige and Wyatt could both heal, so there would be no need for him to go to a hospital. No, this must have been something from the mortal world. A mortal had done this. Stabbed him. With a knife. Shit, why couldn't he remember?

"Chris?"

It was a smiling nurse dressed in pale blue scrubs, her dark hair pulled back with a small white flower. "Do you remember me?"

His mind spat out a memory, fuzzy around the edges. "You were here… last night."

The smile brightened. "That's right. I don't think I introduced myself did I? I'm Nurse Rivera – but you can call me Ava." Like the doctor had, she checked his chart. "Looking good here… has Dr Emrik been in to speak to you?"

"He said… he told me I'd been stabbed." Just saying the words was difficult, like it made it real or something. Stripped all pretensions away and made him vulnerable. _I've been stabbed. With a knife. Someone did this to me – why did someone do this to me?_

"Just like that?" Ava studied his face and nodded. "Yes, just like that. Typical. That man has no empathy." She came and perched on the edge of his bed. "How are you feeling about that?"

_How am I feeling…? _Chris wanted to laugh, but feared if he opened his mouth every hysterical thought would just spill right out. Confused, scared, angry, sick – pick an adjective, pick all of them and you still wouldn't be anywhere close. That elusive calm he was trying to hang onto was slipping through his fingers and everything had narrowed to a knife's point, sinking into his flesh. Someone had stabbed him. _Someone stabbed me_.

"Chris?"

She wasn't going to be satisfied with his silence – he had to give her something. "I don't remember what happened," he confessed in a rush, hating how weak he sounded. "I don't remember getting – I don't remember him – "

She patted his hand. "That's not uncommon following a traumatic experience. Don't worry, I'm sure the memories will return in time."

He drew his hand away. Her sympathy grated on his nerves and just made him feel worse. And as much as the identity of his attacker was important, deep down a voice whispered that maybe he'd be better off _not_ remembering. To know what it felt like to be stabbed, to watch that knife go in… He'd probably been scared. Scared and in a lot of pain. Weak. To remember being reduced to that – maybe this temporary amnesia was a blessing in disguise.

Besides, his mind was doing a good enough job of reconstructing events as it was. There was so much whirling around in there that he began to feel light-headed, like the world was slipping out of focus. He kept picturing the knife, a sneering face above it, and suddenly, shockingly, he could hear laughter, feel fists connecting with his flesh, taste blood in his mouth –

The machine next to his pillow gave a loud _beep_, making Chris jump. His stitches pulled and he sucked in air to stop a gasp from coming out. The machine beeped again as Ava attended to it. "No you don't – ah there, that's better. Good."

Chris lay back and looked at the ceiling without seeing it. Ava could probably fill in some of the blanks in his memory, he thought, but he hesitated to ask. Until he had everything sorted out – until he could face all of this without flipping out – then maybe it was safer _not_ to think about it. Yeah, he should focus on something else. Like the unending yellow walls and what they meant. Was it supposed to cheer patients up or something? Make them think they were luxuriating in their beds at home? It was like the sun had sicked up all over the room. Disgusting. What was wrong with plain old hospital white?

He started mentally redecorating, telling himself it was because he was bored, but as his eyes passed over the metal rail at the foot of the bed, another metal object slashed its way into his thoughts, and then into his stomach, twisting and turning like a snake. Chris squeezed his eyes shut, but it was no good. The knife wouldn't be silenced this time. Not by him.

Blessed distraction came in the form of Ava, who had left and returned during his internal agonising and was now saying something about how his parents must have already been on their way. Before Chris could puzzle out the meaning of that, a pair of arms was wrapping around him and his face was pressed into a warm, soft jacket. Eyes stinging, he burrowed his nose in deeper and inhaled the familiar scent of home. Mom was here. Everything was going to be alright.

When she finally released him there were tears on her face and she cupped his cheek with one hand. "Welcome back, baby."

It was an intensely personal moment and normally Chris would have shied away, embarrassed, but the look on Mom's face told more than words ever could about how much this meant to her. So he allowed her hand to remain and didn't resist when she pulled him into another embrace.

As Mom settled back into the chair at the head of the bed, his hand still firmly in hers, Dad circled the bed and took the other chair.

"How are you feeling?"

Chris hadn't been able to answer when Ava had asked and he still couldn't now – it was impossible to put into words. "Did they tell you what happened?" Mom prompted gently after a pause. "Chris?"

"Yeah." He fingered the covers above where the knife wound was hidden, muscles tensing unconsciously. The pain was still there; distant and numb, but hovering in the background. A constant reminder, like a splinter in a finger. "Someone stabbed me."

"Did they tell you everything?"

It was, Chris thought, a strange question to ask. What more could there be to tell? He'd been stabbed by someone and had ended up in hospital – end of. Unless…

"They caught him? The guy?"

Dad looked perplexed. "What guy?"

"The guy who did this."

There was a long pause. Had he said something wrong? Chris tried to read the answer in his dad's face, and even looked at his mom's, but they remained closed to him.

"Chris." Something in Dad's tone told Chris he wasn't going to like what was coming. "The one who did this to you… he's dead."

Of all the explanations he had expected, this would not even have made the list. His attacker was _dead_? Just what the hell had happened?

"And, son… it was Warren Trent."

That stopped Chris cold. Warren Trent had _stabbed_ him. Warren Trent was _dead_. The two phrases played over and over in his head, like a children's nursery rhyme. He could hear the melody, the cheerful phrases making a mockery of the lyrics.

_Warren Trent had stabbed him. Warren Trent was dead._

He didn't know how to feel about that. It was too much – he couldn't think and suddenly the covers were too heavy and the room was too hot. He pushed at them, barely hearing his parents' protests, hauling himself upright and not stopping until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet touching the cool floor. Head bowed, he hid behind his messy hair and tried to stave off a full-blown panic attack.

Warren Trent. God, he'd hated that bastard. _Hated _him. He'd laughed it off with his friends – even with himself – but deep down, there'd been this simmering rage, ready to reach out and strike. An emotion that was so strong it had scared him even to think about it. The clever jokes and witty, cutting comments had all been for effect; a way of coping with the day-to-day pleasure of being in Warren's firing line. In truth, Chris had wanted nothing more than to take his fist and smash it into that smug face. Somewhere public, where everyone could point and laugh and Warren would know what humiliation felt like. The rumour had been the start of quest for revenge that he'd never get to finish now.

Since Warren had stuck a knife in his gut, Chris couldn't find it in himself to be sorry. There was such a thing as retribution – Chris was a firm believer in that. You got what you gave out, and Warren had been making people's lives miserable for years. That this karmic payback had resulted in his death was harsh, yeah… but then Warren had stabbed him. Put him in frickin' _hospital_. He obviously hadn't given a shit if Chris lived or died, so maybe this was just life coming full-circle. Chris wasn't sorry. He couldn't be sorry…

"Chris. Chris, come on." Dad helped him back onto the bed, adjusting his hospital gown. Chris shied away from his touch.

"How did it happen?" he demanded, voice cracking.

"Chris, I don't think this is the time –"

"_How did it happen_?"

There was a long pause.

"The police think it was a chemical explosion," Dad explained finally. "You were all found next to the science labs at school."

"It was nobody's fault," Mom added quickly. "Just a tragic accident."

An explosion. Warren had stabbed him and the building had exploded. Or had it been the other way around? Or simultaneous?

Something else his dad had said suddenly registered and a shiver went through Chris at the implications. "_All _found… there was someone else, wasn't there."

"Yes, honey," Mom said gently. "Austin West and Jake Hawkins were also killed in the explosion."

Austin and Jake. Chris hadn't known them well, and they'd kind of been idiots, but he wouldn't have wished this on them. But then again, they'd presumably been there when Warren had stabbed him… had been involved somehow. Maybe. God, everything was so messed up! He wanted to remember, he didn't want to remember, he _needed _to remember…

"So this – this happened at school?"

"That's right."

"During the day? Or was it after?"

Mom's face creased. "After… are you having trouble with your memory, honey?"

"A bit." A lot.

Admitting it was a mistake. Mom was on her feet in an instant, peering into his eyes, checking the back of his head and calling out for the doctor. When no one replied, she threw up her hands and said, "Do I have to do everything myself?" before storming out of the room.

Beside him, Dad sighed. "She's been worried," he offered when Chris looked at him. "You've been unconscious for six days."

Suddenly Ava's first comment when he'd woken up made sense. As did the frantic air to his parents' words, the tension he could almost taste and the way Mom had been looking at him. He'd been asleep for six days?

"It was bad, wasn't it?" Chris wasn't sure he really wanted an answer.

But Dad surprised him. "No, not really. Well, yes, you had surgery but the doctors said it went very smoothly. You just… wouldn't wake up and no one was sure why."

_Maybe I knew this was coming, _Chris thought bleakly, _and I used the ultimate avoidance tactic._

He rolled onto his side and tucked his hands up under his chin. The IV snagged against his check and he tugged the needle and clear tube into a comfortable position. It was feeding something into his body. Normally he would have been curious. Right now, he didn't have the energy to care.

"Chris," Dad's voice moved closer and the bed swayed as he sat down on it, "look, I'm not going to pretend I know how you're feeling about all this because I don't. But I've lived a long time and I've known death and pain, and the one lesson I've learned? That keeping everything bottled up inside only makes things worse. And it can – it can affect powers too. So you might not be ready yet, but when you are I want you to promise you'll talk okay? To me, your Mom, your brother, Aunt Phoebe – whoever. Just talk."

_Yeah. Sure. Talking. That'll make everything better. Great._

He made some sound of agreement and that seemed to satisfy Dad because the bed moved again as he stood up. "I need to talk to your mom, okay buddy? I'll be back soon."

The footsteps receded and the door closed with a soft click. Chris closed his eyes and listened to the beeping of the machines. It was distracting and calming all at the same time. His heartbeat slowed until it throbbed in time. _Beep… beep… beep…_

_A dizzying flash of light. A knife in his stomach. Warren's terrified face staring down at him, then flying through the air to crumple against the wall – _

Chris gasped and wrenched himself upright. He was shaking and the wound in his side screamed as if the knife was still in there. It had been a memory, he thought feverishly. A memory of the attack. It was coming back, just like Ava said it would, and even that brief moment had shown him something he hadn't known before. That Warren Trent hadn't just died –

Chris had _seen him die_.


	8. Chapter Eight: Wyatt

**Chapter Eight – Wyatt**

Once Chris was awake, Wyatt stopped visiting his brother in hospital.

At the time, it seemed perfectly rational. He was at school, Chris was sleeping, his parents were already there. He had to babysit Melinda. He had football practice. There was a big school project he had to finish. The excuses were numerous and easy to find. Then his dad had taken him gently aside and asked him what was wrong, and Wyatt had been forced to face up to the fact that he'd been avoiding his brother.

But really, what do you say to someone who's killed three people?

Because that was the crux of it really. As much as Wyatt wanted to reassure himself that Chris was okay, was going to come home soon, he'd never been great at hiding his emotions. The minute he stepped into that room, Chris would be able to tell that something was wrong and Wyatt didn't know if he could lie well enough to cover it. And that knowledge… it burned at the back of his mind, like a stain that refused to be removed. Chris had _killed_ three people. No, not just three people – Chris had killed Warren, Austin and Jake. His friends. His teammates. Guys he'd grown up with and whose faces he now couldn't get out of his head.

Then there was the how. That power that had exploded out of Chris… Wyatt had never seen anything like it. He'd asked his parents but they'd been very close-mouthed, offering vague, generic answers that they didn't seem to realise he was far too old to be taken in by. The only point that they were vocal on was that until they knew what they were dealing with and where this deadly new power had come from, Chris wasn't to know the truth. They would support the police's theory of a chemical explosion. When Wyatt had questioned the decision, it had been his easy-going, open and honest down who had put his foot down, in a tone that had brooked no argument. It could just have been the stress of the situation, but Wyatt had never heard his dad sound like that before so he'd let it go.

Chris came home just over a week after waking up. Wyatt was waiting, holding the manor door open, as his brother climbed carefully out of the car. He looked thin, Wyatt thought guiltily. Thin and even paler than usual. That didn't stop a miniature whirlwind of brown hair from seizing him around the middle as soon as he'd straightened up. Melinda hung on tightly, ignoring their parents' attempts to draw her away and even though it clearly hurt, Chris started to smile. He flicked her on the nose, she screwed up her face and scowled, and with that, everything was back to normal between them.

Wyatt wished he could be so casual. "Hey man," he greeted his brother as Chris climbed the steps to the manor. "You look…"

"Like shit," Chris supplied dryly. "So I hear."

Wyatt smiled awkwardly. "I was going to say glad to be home."

Chris snorted. "You're a rubbish liar."

Yes, he was. God, how was he supposed to handle this?

"What, no hug?" Chris held his arms out.

A beat passed and then Wyatt stepped forward, opening his arms. Chris held up a hand.

"Jeez, Wy, I was joking. We're guys – guys don't hug."

His brother pushed past him, leaving Wyatt feeling foolish – nothing new there. In fact, Chris was acting exactly like his usual acidic self. There was nothing to show he'd spent the last two weeks in hospital, recovering from being stabbed by a schoolmate. It was unsettling.

* * *

><p>Two hours later they were sitting in Wyatt's bedroom, games controllers in hand, Chris in the inflatable chair by the window and Wyatt perched awkwardly on the end of his bed. It had been Mom's idea and the expression on her face when she'd made the suggestion had forestalled any complaints. So here he was, doing some enforced sibling bonding with his brother while saving the world from a zombie invasion. A game full of bloody, mindless violence probably wasn't the best choice given the circumstances, and Mom definitely wouldn't approve, but Chris had been mulish and Wyatt was actually finding it kind of therapeutic.<p>

Chris shifted, making the chair squeak. A zombie exploded on screen and Wyatt wondered what he was thinking about. Probably how much he didn't want to be here. Or maybe about the knife wound. Or Warren.

Warren. Wyatt's eyes had been opened in the most brutal way by Aunt Phoebe's premonition and he couldn't hide behind denial anymore. Warren had really done it. Taken a knife to school, set up an ambush and then beaten and stabbed Chris. Warren could have killed his brother and up until the other night, Wyatt had still been protesting his innocence. He really hadn't wanted to believe what everyone and everything had been screaming at him.

Why? He wasn't sure. Probably because of the intense, almost crippling guilt that hung over him like a fog cloud. That he should have known, that he should have seen it coming, that he should have stopped it. If Warren had been innocent, Wyatt would have been exonerated. But Warren wasn't innocent. He'd been found guilty and the sentence had already been passed.

Chris cleared his throat. Wyatt glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but it was almost a full minute before his brother actually spoke.

"What do you know about what happened?"

Wyatt hesitated. He'd been expecting this ever since Mom had pressed Chris into his company, but still hadn't really worked out what he should say. Lie and Chris would know – he wasn't stupid. Tell the truth and his parents would kill him. So what did that leave? Half-truths, distractions and bland, generic answers that would hopefully satisfy his little brother.

"You mean… when you were hurt?" he hedged.

"You know when I mean."

"Yeah, okay, um… not much."

Another zombie died spectacularly, spewing blood across the screen.

"The police haven't told you anything?"

"As much as they've told you."

"Explosion then."

"Yep." He should have left it there, but felt compelled to ask, "What do you remember?"

"Not a lot." Chris twisted his controller sideways and executed a perfect headshot. Another member of the walking dead was down. "Bits and pieces."

Wyatt tensed. _Chris was remembering_. None of them had really banked on that, not this quickly anyway. Just how long until his brother remembered everything?

"Like what?" he asked casually.

Chris shrugged. "Did the cops interview you again?"

Wyatt didn't miss how he avoided the question. He was going to have to speak to his parents about this – the last thing they needed was Chris remembering everything on his own and then finding out they'd lied to him.

"Last week. Reid and I… there wasn't much we could say. We weren't there when it happened."

"Reid?"

"Reid Grant. He was there when we – found you."

Wyatt made his character duck behind a wooden crate. On the other side of the screen, Chris's guy darted past, whipped out a rocket launcher and took out a whole row of zombies.

Despite himself, Wyatt grinned. "Nice."

"Oh yeah."

"Been carrying that around for a while?"

" 'Bout ten levels. Never know when a small guided missile's gonna come in handy."

That was typical of Chris. Always plotting and planning and thinking things through. Wyatt was much more of a happy-go-lucky-tackle-the-moment-as-it-happens kind of guy. It meant they didn't particularly gel well as an undead-killing, gun-wielding team – or as brothers.

The fiery blast from the rocket launcher had left flames flickering around the remains of a pile of packing crates and the ground was all blackened. Little bits of ash floated in the air. Wyatt directed his character to collect an ammo pack off the floor and then kicked one of the remaining packing crates out of the way to reveal a lock-picking set. "Score." He scooped that up as well.

"The explosion must have been burned them up pretty bad."

Startled, Wyatt's fingers slipped off the controller, sending his camera view off at a crazy angle. Chris wasn't looking at the game anymore; he was looking straight at Wyatt.

"Why wasn't I hurt?"

"What do you mean?" Wyatt asked cautiously, pretty sure he already knew the answer.

He was right. "They died," Chris said with painful bluntness. "I didn't have a scratch on me. Why is that?"

_Because it was you_.

"I don't know," Wyatt said quickly. "Maybe you were just lucky."

"I was rightthere when Warren – I was _right_ _there_."

God, how much did he know? Did he remember that he'd – no, there's no way they'd be sitting here having this conversation if he did.

"You and Reid… you saw the explosion?"

"Just the light from it. We were too far away anything else."

Chris was silent for a moment. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Chris… I don't know what to tell you."

"You must have seen something."

"The light –"

"You were over by the locker room, right? And I was by the science lab… must have been a pretty big explosion for it to reach you all the way over there. Blew out windows, the cops said. But nothing hit me. Nothing. How can you explain that?"

"Maybe you orbed –"

Chris was already shaking his head. "No, that's not right. I couldn't have because I saw Warren – I was _so close_. I should have been hurt, just like them. They should have been packing me away in one of those body bags –"

"Don't joke about something like that."

" – but instead I'm here, beating up zombies like life's just snapped right back to normal. I should be dead. Why aren't I dead?"

Wyatt hit "pause" with such ferocity that he almost dropped his controller. "Enough with the third degree. Why are you asking all these questions? I've told you – I didn't see anything. I don't know what happened!"

It was an overreaction. Wyatt knew it and judging by the expression on his brother's face, Chris did too. "I didn't think an explanation was too much to ask for," he said slowly, voice hardening. "You know, considering I was beaten and stabbed. By your _friends_."

If the ground had been dangerous before, it was now crumbling beneath his feet.

"I'm sorry for what Warren did to you," Wyatt said carefully.

Chris laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. "Everyone's sorry. D'you know Warren's parents came to the hospital? They were real sorry too. Of course, it _wasn't Warren's fault_…"

Wyatt hadn't known that – that the Trents had visited the hospital. His parents hadn't mentioned it so maybe they didn't know either.

"They said it must have been an accident. You know, Warren _accidently _stabbed a knife into my gut." Chris had taken the game off "pause" and was beginning to hammer at the buttons. "I must have _accidently_ put my face in front of his fists as well."

"They're just upset. They lost a child, Chris."

"He was a bastard."

"Doesn't mean he deserved to die," Wyatt said sharply, giving up all pretence of playing the game.

"I call it karma."

Wyatt stared at him in disbelief. "That's a horrible thing to say."

"Yeah well maybe I'm not feeling very charitable, Wyatt." On screen, Chris's character was attacking erratically, the violence spinning out of control and his health bar rapidly depleting. "Maybe I'm more concerned about the fact that he could have killed me – _shit_!"

Chris's avatar had collapsed with a dying cry, and a ghostly "Game Over" appeared on the screen. In response his brother's controller went sailing across the room and smashed into the wall, where part of it snapped off in a shower of plastic. Chris swore again and followed it, collecting the two largest broken pieces and putting them next to the games console. Then he just stood there, back to Wyatt, shoulders rising and falling under the weight of his breaths. Chris, usually so loud and explosive, was still.

Several minutes passed. Wyatt's legs were cramping from sitting cross-legged and he stood up, stretching the kinks out. "You okay?"

Chris turned around. "Peachy-keen."

There was no trace of the emotion of moments before on his face, which held a carefully controlled blankness. Like he'd switched of his feelings with the flick of a switch. Wyatt almost regretted it. "You don't have to pretend you know. You're allowed to be freaked out. _I _sure as hell am."

"Oh yeah. Right. This is _really _hard for you."

"They were my friends, Chris."

"Great group you've got there, Wy. Real charmers."

"You want me to feel guilty? Fine, I feel guilty. But God, Chris, you should have told me what was going on."

"So you could charge in on your white steed and save the day? No thanks."

"Oh so getting beaten up and stabbed was better than asking for my help?" Wyatt demanded incredulously. When Chris didn't reply, he shook his head in disbelief. "Chris, you're my brother. My _brother_. Did you think I would have sided with Warren if I'd known? Did you think I wouldn't care or something?"

"I think it's my business."

"Maybe it was then, but now –"

"I don't want to talk about Warren Trent anymore. We done here?"

He stalked out of the room, leaving Wyatt to stare after him, trying to balance a complicated mixture of guilt and relief. There were sounds of a commotion out on the landing and then Melinda barged into his room.

"What happened?" she demanded, running up to Wyatt. "What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"Yes you did. He's upset. You upset him."

"We were just talking."

"I don't believe you."

The accusation stung and made his tone sharp. "Yeah? Well I don't care what you believe. You're just a kid – what do you know?"

"I'm not a kid!"

"So you're just acting like one then? Kicking and shouting and screaming and taking everything out on me? I didn't want this, Melinda. I didn't mean for any of it to happen and – and it isn't my fault!"

She flinched and he immediately felt guilty. He hadn't meant to say all that; it had just spilled out. A leftover from his confrontation with Chris that she hadn't deserved. Sometimes it was easy to forget that she was only 12.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"What's that?"

"I said I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blamed you." She folded her arms across her chest and kept her eyes on the ground. "Don't make me say it again."

"Heaven forbid." But he was smiling and after a moment, she gave a small smile back.

Melinda started circling his room, picking up various knickknacks and keepsakes and turning them over in her small hands.

"How are you feeling about all this?" Wyatt asked her after a moment.

She screwed up her face. "Dunno."

"C'mon, you can do better than that."

"Don't want to." She found a decorated glass that Wyatt had painted in third grade and held it up to the light. "You're not very good at art."

Wyatt ignored that comment. "Well I'm scared and confused and angry."

"Me too," she said quickly, putting the glass back down again.

"Yeah? Glad it's not just me."

Melinda worked her way around to the bay window and considered the inflatable chair. Obviously thinking better of it, she wandered across to his desk instead and picked up a framed photograph. It was of the three of them, taken years ago now. Melinda was about four, all cute rosy cheeks and hair in bunches. Chris, even at seven, looked dark and secretive, his hair falling into his eyes. Nine-year old Wyatt was laughing at the camera. It was a good photo.

"Chris is bad now, isn't he?"

Wyatt tried to follow her logic and failed. "Why would you say that?"

" 'Cos he hurt those boys."

"How did you…? You saw Aunt Phoebe's premonition," Wyatt realised with a groan as Melinda nodded. "I didn't realise you were there."

"No one did."

"Mel…"

She put the photograph face down on the table. "They're dead, aren't they? The boys."

There was no reason to lie. "Yes."

"And Chris – Chris did it."

He couldn't deny that either.

"So he's bad now, right? That's how it works. You do something _that _bad and… is he going to go live in the Underworld?"

"What? No, of course not! He's not _evil_, Mel. It was self-defence."

"But they _died_!"

Conscious of the open door behind them and his little sister's rising voice, Wyatt hurried to shut it.

"Okay," he began, taking Mel's hand and sitting them both down on the bed. "Okay. Do you remember when you hurt Tamora's knee?"

Melinda chewed on her lip. Tamora was one of their cousins – she and her twin Kat were Aunt Paige and Uncle Henry's oldest children.

"That was an accident."

"That's right. Tamora tripped over and you pushed her out of the way. If you hadn't she probably would have knocked you down the stairs. Now you didn't mean for her to hurt her knee on the table, did you?"

"No!"

"Exactly – it was an accident. You were just trying to protect yourself. Like Chris was."

"But – but it's not the same," Melinda protested.

"Why not?"

"I didn't hurt anyone! Not really…"

"No," Wyatt agreed. "But do you think Chris really meant to either? Remember, he was hurt and scared and he probably panicked. He's not bad, Mel. He's not evil. If anything, well, I don't think he meant to do it at all."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Melinda thought about that for a second. "Okay, I believe you," she told him seriously. "I didn't want Chris to move to the Underworld anyway."

Wyatt almost laughed, which wouldn't have won him any favours, but the shear frankness of his little sister was refreshing. He'd missed her, he realised. Throughout all of this he hadn't had anyone to talk to. His parents had been too wrapped up in their own problems, leaving their children to their own devices. And now his best confident was a 12 year old girl. Life could be funny that way.

Something else struck him then. "Mel, you can't tell Chris about this, you know that right? He thinks it was an explosion and he needs to keep thinking that."

"Why?"

"… Mom and Dad don't want to worry him."

"So we lie."

"Well, uh, not exactly. We just… don't tell Chris."

"That's the same as lying," Melinda told him stubbornly. "And Mom and Dad said it's wrong to lie."

"Mel," Wyatt sighed. "It's to help Chris. A… white lie. You know what a white lie is?"

"Um… like when Aunt Paige cut her hair real short and Mom said it made her look like a lollypop, only she told Aunt Paige it looked great?"

God, how much did his little sister overhear while she was ghosting around the house? "Exactly. Think you can do that?"

"I guess." Melinda fidgeted, tracing the line of the pattern on his bedspread with one finger. "Wyatt?" she began pensively. "Do you think Mom and Dad are going to get –"

"Wyatt!"

Mom's voice. After a moment the door opened. "Dinner's almost ready. Will you come and set the table please? You too Melinda." Her eyes narrowed. "Where's your brother?"

Melinda jumped up. "I'll go get him."

She scampered off and as Wyatt trudged downstairs he found himself admiring his little sister's resilience. She'd seen everything he'd seen, knew everything he knew and had shrugged it off as if it were nothing. While here he was, crippled by indecision and doubt and most of all fear – fear of what would happen when Chris found out. Because he would find out – that was a given. Secrets had a way of thrusting themselves into the spotlight at the worse moments.

Footsteps sounded behind him and he looked back to see Melinda racing down the stairs, Chris in tow. Their eyes met and for a moment Wyatt thought his brother was going to speak, but then Chris just brushed past him instead.


	9. Chapter Nine: Melinda

**Chapter Nine - Melinda**

Three days later, Mom dropped Melinda round at Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Coop's house. It would have been much quicker to orb – as Melinda had pointed out – but Mom had this thing about unnecessarily using their powers. She seemed to want her kids to have as normal and boring a childhood as possible, which meant an endless procession of car trips that cost time and money and often put her in a cranky mood.

Sometimes Melinda really didn't understand adults.

Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Coop lived in this beautiful old house on the outskirts of the city. It had twenty-one rooms in total, including six bedrooms, four bathrooms, five cupboards and a huge kitchen-diner. Prue was always boasting about it, but Melinda didn't care. She wasn't jealous. She had her own room at the manor and it was just as big as Prue's. _And _she had the attic with the book so – so her house was better.

They pulled up with a crunch of gravel and Uncle Coop came out to meet them. "Phoebe's at work," he said to her mom, "so I've got babysitting duty."

"On a weekend?"

Uncle Coop shrugged fluidly. "Nothing changes. Alright there, kiddo?" He chucked Melinda under the chin, grinning when she pulled a face at him. "Your cousins are in the garden. Why don't you go join them?"

Melinda looked at her mom expectantly, waiting for the usual goodbye hug. Mom obliged, but it was a half-hearted effort and she turned back to Uncle Coop straight afterwards, effectively dismissing her daughter. Stung, Melinda flounced away. As she moved down the path, she heard her uncle say, "Phoebe told me everything. How you holding up?"

"I'm fine. We're fine. I just… I guess I hoped Leo was wrong."

"The Elders confirmed it?"

"Mm."

"So what now?"

Mom didn't answer and Melinda was left to wonder what the Elders had confirmed. Probably something boring – apparently they were all stuffy old men in robes. Not that Melinda had actually met any, but Aunt Paige moaned about them a lot.

She rounded the corner of the house and paused. The one thing – the _one_ thing – that Melinda did envy about Prue's house was its garden. The manor was nearer to the city centre and the garden was pretty, but it was also undeniably small. Her cousin's garden was _huge_. It was at least as big as the football pitch at Chris and Wyatt's school, and criss-crossed by hedges and flowerbeds. Melinda had grown up playing endless games of Hide and Seek in this garden.

Right now she could see Kat, Tamora and Prue standing in the middle of the lawn. They looked up as she approached.

"Mel!" Kat shouted, bounding across and grabbing Mel's arm, pulling her down the slope towards the others. "Mel's here," she informed the others.

"We can see that," Prue retorted.

Kat was always full of energy, Melinda thought. Even on a hot day like today, she was bouncing on the tip of her toes, ready to get going. Tamora was quieter and more sedate, but still a welcome relief from sour-faced Prue.

"Now we can get the water fight started," Kat ploughed on cheerfully.

"Water fight?" Mel asked, looking between her cousins.

"We're not having a water fight," Prue said dismissively. "I don't want to get my dress wet."

"Alright then, 40:40."

"That's for babies."

"It's fun!"

"For babies."

"Acci Acci 123."

"That's the same as 40:40!"

"Not really –"

"We're playing Round House," Prue declared.

Kat frowned. "Why do we always have to do what you want?"

"It's my house, so I get to decide."

"You just want to play that because you'll win."

"I think we should let Mel choose," Tamora said suddenly. "Because of Chris."

That brought them all up short. None of her cousins had asked about Chris. Not even Prue, who'd witnessed that awful argument between her parents. It was like it was a taboo subject.

It was up to Kat to raise the subject now. "Is he… okay?"

Was Chris okay? Mel wasn't sure, but she wasn't going to share that. Besides, they were probably talking about his injuries rather than how he was handling everything that had happened, so… "He's fine."

Kat look relieved. "Cool. So, um, you can pick now."

They were all looking at her expectantly, Prue with much less grace than the others. Behind them Melinda could see that Uncle Coop had come out onto the patio. An idea formed in her mind. "Water fight," she decided.

Kat cheered and took off down the garden towards the summer house. Prue heaved an annoyed sigh and hurried after her. Tamora smiled at Melinda, screwed up her face and then orbed ahead of both of them.

"No orbing!" Prue shouted as she fell behind. "That's cheating!"

Giggling manically, the twins linked hands and orbed out again to their cousin's disgust.

Melinda waited until they were out of sight and then headed back up towards the house. Uncle Coop was sitting at the patio table, legs stretched out before him, a pair of sunglasses hiding his eyes. He was so still that Mel wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

She sidled up to the table and perched on an empty chair. The sun blazed down on her from an empty blue sky and the smell from the rose garden was almost overpowering. There were so many different coloured plants there now – one for every year of her aunt and uncle's marriage and three for their daughters. It had been Uncle Coop's idea apparently – a big, bold romantic gesture out there for all the world to see. _That_ was what marriage was supposed to be about. Happiness and romance. Not anger and pain and shouting.

"What's up munchkin?"

Melinda jumped. Not as asleep as she'd thought.

"Too hot to go running about, huh?"

"Yep." She was glad she'd worn her sundress and doubly glad her mom had insisted on slathering her in sunscreen. With her dark hair and pale skin, Melinda burned easily.

Uncle Coop titled his face up towards the sun. Melinda followed suit, but she couldn't relax. It was too hot; her dress itched; the smell of the roses made her nose wrinkle. She should just ask her question and get out of there.

"Uncle Coop?"

"Hmm?"

She hesitated. What to say?

"Why do people get divorced?"

Her uncle didn't move, but she got the feeling he was looking at her from behind his dark sunglasses.

"That's a serious question for such a beautiful day. Where's this coming from?"

"Nowhere. Just wondering. Um, this girl at school was – she was talking about it, so I was just… wondering."

"And you thought you'd come to the master of love, yeah?" Her uncle grinned. "Okay. Let's see… divorce. Well… I guess the main reason is that sometimes people just fall out of love. Not everyone has a cupid to steer them down the right path and sometimes people change and the love fades."

"Like with Grandpa Victor and Grandma Patty? And Grams?"

"Exactly. It doesn't mean they didn't love each other in the first place."

"Grams sure loved a lot of different men."

Uncle Coop laughed. "She sure did. I wouldn't say that to her face though."

"But what makes it fade?"

"Love?" Her uncle shrugged fluidly. "No one knows the answer to that one, kiddo, not even a cupid. Like I said, people change. Sometimes bad things happen. Sometimes other people come along who you love more. Divorce – it doesn't have to be sad. It can just be the ending of one chapter as another begins."

"Bad things happen," Melinda repeated slowly. Yes, bad things had happened alright. It was all starting to add up. "What happens to the kids? I mean, how do the parents split things?"

"The mom gets to keep the girls; the dad the boys." When he saw her face, Uncle Coop laughed again. "I'm just kidding, Mel. That kind of thing – it's up to the parents. And the kids, of course."

"The kids get a say?"

"If they're old enough and the parents do their job right."

"How old –"

Loud voices suddenly rose up from the house behind them – Prue's younger sisters, squabbling over what they wanted to watch on TV. Uncle Coop tipped his head back and shouted, "Girls, remember what we said about sharing the remote?" After he'd got murmured sounds of agreement, he turned back to Melinda. "Sorry kid, what were you saying?"

"Nothing important," Melinda said quickly, slipping off the chair. "I, uh, think I'll go play now."

"Alright. But be on Prue's side, will you? She gets upset when the twins gang up on her."

* * *

><p>A hot day gave way to a cool evening. Mom and Dad were out – Mel wasn't sure where – and Wyatt had been left in charge. She hadn't seen either of her brothers since dinner, which was perfect. Chris she knew was in his room – the pounding music was proof enough. Wyatt she wasn't so sure about, but a quick press of her ear against his closed bedroom door revealed a murmur of voices from his TV. Also perfect.<p>

She climbed the stairs up the attic and opened the door slowly. The room beyond was empty, thrown into shadows by the fading light outside. Quiet. Peaceful.

She padded across to the pedestal on which the Book of Shadows always stood. It was closed and she ran her fingers down the smooth green cover, tracing the lines of the triquetra. So old. So much power inside. So much knowledge. It had always fascinated her, right back from when Mom had told them stories about their magical heritage as kids.

Melinda opened the heavy cover. The pages were thick and crackled as she turned them. Demons' faces glared up at her; some she recognised, others she didn't. Then there were the spells, hundreds and hundreds of them. A spell for every occasion, Aunt Paige had said once. Lots of them were in her Mom's handwriting.

She took her time, reading each one carefully. Aunt Paige had been right – there really _was_ a spell for every occasion! Melinda even found one for washing socks. Not all clothes, just socks. Melinda stifled a giggle. One of her ancestors had obviously had too much spare time on their hands.

About two-thirds of the way through the book, she found what she was looking for. But it wasn't just a spell like she'd hoped. It was a spell and a potion combined.

Melinda stroked a finger down the crinkly page. The potion was complicated and her potion-making skills were… basic. She didn't even recognise some of the ingredients. But Mom had tons of ingredients in her kitchen cupboards, didn't she? And they were all neatly lined up and labelled so it would be easy to find what Mel needed. Maybe she didn't need to be the perfect potion maker. How hard could it be? She just had to follow the instructions and Mel had always been good at doing that. She'd got top marks in her chemistry mid-term.

Melinda scribbled the names of the ingredients onto a scrap of paper and then hurried down to the kitchen. There was a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, a leftover from dinner that was sure to send her mom off on one when she got home. Melinda debated washing them, but… no. It had been the boys' turn. She'd done it yesterday and besides, she was busy with more important things.

Her mom's potion cupboards were the ones above the countertop and although Melinda stood on her tiptoes, she couldn't reach the top shelf. Casting around for inspiration, she dragged one of the kitchen chairs across and clambered onto it. Much better.

Mom's potions cupboard was organised by type and then by name, something Melinda approved of because it made finding things easy. After five minutes of poking about she'd already found most of what was on her list and her hand had just closed around the final item when a voice hailed her.

"Hey Mel."

Melinda jerked, banging her head on the cupboard door and almost falling backwards off the stool. The feather she'd been holding floated gently to the ground.

"Woah! Watch yourself!"

A pair of hands caught her under the arms and helped her down. Wyatt pushed her messy hair out of her face. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah." She stepped away from her brother, hiding the scrap of paper in her fist behind her back. The ingredients she already pulled out were in a neat pile next to the sink; she could see Wyatt looking and casually moved in front of them.

"What are you doing down here?"

"What are _you_ doing down here?" Melinda countered nervously.

Wyatt raised his eyebrows and gestured with the empty glass she hadn't noticed he was carrying. "Getting a drink. That okay with you?" He didn't wait for an answer, stepping around her to the sink and filling his glass with water. When he didn't move back she was _sure_ he was eyeing the potion ingredients again.

"Mel –"

"Mom left them out," she blurted, waving a hand at the ingredients. "I was just tidying up." She stressed the word "tidying" and saw Wyatt clock the dirty dishes in the sink. "Didn't want you to get into trouble," she added for good measure.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Well, you know, it was Chris's turn but he…" He coughed and then cleared his throat. "We shouldn't bother him. Er, thanks Mel."

"You owe me."

"Don't I always?" Wyatt smiled and then beat a hasty retreat.

Melinda sent a mental thank you to the dishes. Scooping up her prizes – including the feather, which had helpfully slid under the island – she went into the hall and peeked around the corner. There was the sound of a door closing upstairs and then silence – Wyatt, returning to his room. Good.

Up the stairs, across the landing, up more stairs and she was back in the attic, potion ingredients spilling from her arms onto the table. Once she had everything laid out methodically, Melinda took a step back feeling hugely satisfied. It really was a simple case of one, two, three. Then all she needed to do was slip the potion into her mom and dad's coffee and voila!

A popping sound came from behind her and Melinda turned, excuses flying to her lips, expecting to see Wyatt or Chris. Instead a stranger in a large overcoat was standing in the open doorway.

Melinda stared at him dumbly. The stranger stared back and then started to smile. He held out his hand. _Demon!_ Melinda's mind shrieked, shattering her paralysis. As a ball of white fire burst into life above the demon's palm, she stumbled backwards, knocking into the table and sending her carefully arranged ingredients flying. The glass of heather smashing on the wooden floor distracted the demon enough that Mel managed to scramble behind the old couch before he attacked. Heart pounding and mouth dry, she pressed her back against the couch and tried to remember what her parents had being drumming into her since childhood. In the event of a demon attack, find cover. Find cover and then… orb to safety.

She tried, she really did, but she was too scared and suddenly the demon was looming over her, hands blazing. Melinda screamed and threw herself to one side as the sofa exploded. She landed awkwardly beside the chaise longue and a spasm of pain shot up her arm. Tears prickled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. _You've trained for this_, she told herself sternly. _You can cope. Now orb!_

Behind her the demon cursed, there was a dull thud and the Book of Shadows suddenly slid into view, hitting the leg of the chaise and then half sliding under it. Melinda caught hold of one corner and tried to pull it closer but the book was stuck and suddenly the demon was _there _again, and the white fire was so hot she could feel it burning her skin –

And then the demon just stopped and considered her. And smiled for a second time.

"Pick it up."

Melinda looked up at him uncomprehendingly.

"Pick the book up."

He'd seen her hands on the book – recognised that she could succeed where he had failed. Terrified, Melinda lashed out blindly, shouting, "Mirror!"

The antique floor-length mirror against the opposite wall leapt into life and caught the demon on the back of the head, toppling him to the floor. Melinda tugged at the book again, managing to free it this time. She picked it up and staggered under the weight. Hugging it to her chest, she ran for the door, skidding to a halt as a second demon appeared out of nowhere right in front of her.

Suddenly the demon went sailing over her head and Wyatt and Chris were there. Wyatt went after the first demon, who was groggily rising to his feet, and Chris grabbed her shoulders.

"You okay?"

She nodded mutely and a flash of relief flittered across his face.

"Get out of here," he ordered. "We've got this."

"I can't orb," she confessed, the tears she'd pushed back earlier returning.

"Then run!" Chris urged, giving her a push towards the stairs before joining Wyatt in the fight.

Melinda flew out of the room and then skidded to a halt. A pair of demons were coming up the stairs and when they saw the book in her arms, their eyes lit up. She teetered on the top step, mentally begging her powers to work. Nothing. She was still there and the demons were still coming.

_Move, move, move_! She backed into the attic, forcing the door shut behind her. It wouldn't hold for long but maybe, just maybe, it would be long enough.

Turning she saw that there were now five, no six, no _seven_ demons bearing down on her brothers. Wyatt was over by the windows – one of which had been blow out, coloured glass scattered across the floor – pressed by four and the others were targeting Chris, who was throwing anything he could see in their direction.

"I told you to run," he shouted when he saw her.

"Demons on the stairs and I can't –"

"Duck!"

They both responded automatically to Wyatt's shout and a sheet of golden fire rippled across the room. It caught five of the demons, vanquishing them instantly, but then the door smashed open behind Mel. She screamed and Chris pulled her back towards him as four more demons spilled into the room. Wyatt stumbled to join them, face grey and hands shaking, powers spent. He fell to his knees as the demons circled them. Melinda clung to the book. Chris gripped both of their shoulders.

"Hold on – "

They were half orbed out when one of the demons lunged forward and grabbed Melinda, wrenching her away from her brothers. The book thumped to the floor. The demon's hand closed around Mel's throat and she could feel the demon's breath on the side of her face.

"Pick it up."

It was the same one as before – she recognised the voice. Terror skittered along her spine. The hand tightened and she started crying. Everything had gone so horribly wrong. Wyatt was down. Chris was trapped. And she –

She was powerless.

"Let her go."

The words were so quiet Melinda thought she must have imagined them. But no, it was her brother's voice and her brother who was staring the demon down. But not the brother she expected. Not Wyatt.

Chris.

His hands alive with blue lightning.

What happened next flashed by so quickly it was hard to follow. The lightning lashed out from Chris's hands and struck the demon holding Mel. She dropped to the floor, scrambling for the book, and her hands had just closed around it when there was a blinding flash of light and then – silence.

Melinda blinked away the spots in front of her eyes. She was covered in a fine layer of white dust and when she looked up she saw that more was circling in the air. It swirled around like a miniature snow tornado in the middle of the room.

It was then Melinda realised the demons were all gone.

Across the room Wyatt picked himself up off the floor. But he wasn't looking at her – he was looking to where Chris was standing, in the centre of the cyclone. Their brother's head was bowed but his hands – oh God. His hands were alive with those threads of blue and white lightning. It danced over his fingertips, across his knuckles and wrapped around his palms like it was alive. Melinda had never seen anything like it before except –

Except when Chris had killed those boys.


	10. Chapter Ten: Chris

**A/N: **Just a quick note to say a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I was about ready to give up on this story, but your encouragement has got me to this point and hopefully beyond! Please continue to let me know your thoughts about my writing and I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten – Chris<strong>

His hands felt like they were on fire. Or like – like ants were crawling all over his fingertips. Biting ants. Fire ants, trying to burrow into his skin. He flicked his hand to shake them off, but that just sent a thin bolt of lightning shooting across the floor. The swirling white dust jumped in response.

Lightning. He was firing lightning from his hands. He was firing _lightning_ from his _hands_.

As new powers went, it was a doozy. It was also… kind of terrifying because right now he couldn't switch it off.

Wyatt approached, hands out, palms facing him, ducking carefully in between the specks of white dust that continued to circle Chris. "Chris… you okay?"

"Y-yeah. Um…"

"Can't stop it?"

"Apparently – apparently not."

"Mel? Can you call Mom and Dad? I think they're at Aunt Paige's house."

Chris hadn't realised his little sister was still in the room, but there she was – cowering over by the overturned chaise longue. Unlike Wyatt, it was far too easy to read the horror in her eyes. Something turned over in Chris's gut. Was it because of the demon attack? Or Chris himself? God, what did he look like right now?

"Mel," he managed. "I'm okay, honestly."

She stood up and brushed dust off her sundress. Favouring one arm and with more of that white dust in her hair – she looked like she'd been through the ringer. She had. They all had. And it wasn't over yet because his hands were beginning to become their own light source.

"Uh, Wyatt –"

"I know. Mel, go on. It's okay."

Their sister darted out of the attic, leaving Chris with nothing but the growing pain in his hands. The lightning was beginning to ripple up his arms now, making the hairs stand on end. In response, the white dust began to circle faster.

"Chris… I think you need to calm down."

"Hurts."

"I know, man. Just take a deep breath."

Chris did as Wyatt suggested, taking one, two, three, _four_ breaths. The more he took, the more the lightning died, until it was back to just skittering along his fingertips again. Chris balled his hands into fists and felt something give inside. When he opened out his fingers again, the lightning had gone.

Suddenly exhausted, he dropped down onto the floor like a puppet's whose strings had been cut. The white dust plummeted with him, spreading across the floorboards like a carpet of snow.

There were other piles around the edges of the room, a couple to his right and one just in front of him. Demons, he realised distantly. Demons he'd vanquished with the flick of his hands.

What was this new power? And more importantly, what did it mean for him?

"Alright, now?" Wyatt had joined him on the floor, ignoring the ash.

"Yeah. I think the light show's over for now." He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees, palms up. They looked perfectly normal now, the skin unblemished from the power that had coated it only moments before. Had he just imagined it? He found himself wanting to believe that. But something inside had shifted and although the power wasn't showing now he could still feel it, bubbling away under the surface like a pot of water on the stove. It didn't _hurt _exactly, but there was a definite throbbing at the back of his mind that was threatening to turn into one mother of a headache.

"Where'd that come from?"

"Dunno." Chris flexed his fingers experimentally. "I guess I saw we were pretty outnumbered and I… d'you think it's a new power?"

"Maybe." His brother looked troubled, but didn't offer up anything more.

"Thought you were supposed to be the one with all the magical mojo. Twice-blessed and all that."

Chris ran a tentative hand through the ash, sending specks floating up into the air again. "I vanquished all the demons, didn't I?"

"I think so, yeah."

Chris blew out a breath. It was just… hard to get his head around. Like everything recently. He hadn't even started coming to terms with the stabbing and Warren's death and now he was shooting thunderbolts uncontrollably out of his hands. He wasn't sure whether he should be laughing or crying.

There was demon ash at his feet and suddenly he couldn't stand to look at it anymore. He rose too quickly, making Wyatt jerk backwards and his head throb angrily. The floorboards lurched to the left and then righted themselves again. "Right, well, guess I'd better clean this up before Mom sees. There any good spells for that in the book?" He didn't wait for an answer, reclaiming the book from where Melinda had dropped it and rummaging through the pages. The words and images swam before his eyes. "Seeing how it's written by Mom and the aunts you think there would be… is it classed as personal gain if it's demon dust?"

"Chris –"

"I'm thinking not, but you can never tell with magic."

"Look, leave the dust. It doesn't matter and Mom won't care –"

"Are you kidding? She chewed me out when I didn't empty my bin last week – month. Last _month_. This'll get me grounded for sure."

"She won't care, Chris. She'll just be happy that we're okay."

"I guess I can argue it out. I've got a pretty good case."

"The cleaning isn't important, Chris," Wyatt interrupted. "What just happened _is_, so just slow down a minute will you? We need to – look at your hands!"

Chris unconsciously followed the instruction and his stomach twisted. The pot had boiled over and the lightning was back, caressing his fingertips, leaving a burning sensation wherever it touched. It was equally beautiful and terrifying in turn. Like a wild animal that had finally broken through the bars of its cage and was just begging to strike. With effort, Chris held it back.

"I need to clean up," he murmured.

"It's okay, I'll do it, yeah?" Wyatt scooted across and carefully took the Book of Shadows from him. The edges of the pages where the book was open were slightly singed. Chris stared at the black marks, oddly fascinated. He'd done that. Marked an ancient magical tomb with the touch of a finger. Would future generations wonder where those marks had come from?

Wyatt rattled the spell off. There was shimmer of golden light and the demon dust floated upwards, only to vanish. The broken window and shattered furniture were all restored to their former states, bringing the attic back into some semblance of order.

With the evidence of the destruction he'd caused gone, some of the tension unfurled inside Chris and the lightning flickered and died. His hands became just regular old hands again and he stared at them mutely. The ease with which he'd lost control frightened him. He'd never felt like that before. If Wyatt hadn't stopped him, he might have –

He was trying to wipe that unpleasant thought from his mind when their parents arrived.

* * *

><p>While Wyatt quickly explained what had happened, Chris tucked his hands into his pockets and took a seat on a nearby chair. The effort of keeping the lightning at bay was beginning to tell and he felt light-headed.<p>

When Wyatt got to the bit about the demon attack and how it had ended, his parents exchanged worried glances and then Mom was kneeling by his side, reaching up to touch his cheek.

"How do you feel, baby?"

Chris just shook his head.

"Leo?" she called urgently and Dad moved to join them. He gave his son an assessing look and then drew Chris's hands out of his pockets, turning them over carefully.

"Can you feel it inside?" he asked and Chris nodded, wondering how his dad knew to ask that. "Can you control it for a moment?" Another nod and Dad sat back on his heels, looking relieved. "Good, that's good. You're doing really well, Chris. Really well. Now, I want you to breathe with me, okay? Try and match your breathing to mine."

It sounded so easy, but the power didn't want to obey. Chris closed his eyes and bit down hard on his lip, using the pain to help him to focus. His dad's words drifted into the background and he concentrated on the rise and fall of the older man's chest. Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Rise. And. Fall.

Time passed, slipping away into the darkness, bringing with it flashes of memory. A face, scarlet with anger, eyes narrowed to points, spittle flying from lips that screamed at him. His body jerking in a macabre dance of pain. The sticky taste of blood in his mouth. Light glinting of a silver blade, turning it a shimmering, sickly yellow. A burning sensation in his side, swelling outwards, consuming him in fire that mercilessly scorched his skin, sucking all of the air from his lungs and –

Something cool touched him in the middle of his forehead, shattering the memory and easing the pressure in his mind. An intense feeling of peace washed over him and he revelled in it, wrapping it around him for a few moments, content just to be. Then, slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.

His dad had moved away and a woman was standing in front of him. She had short blonde hair and a kind face, and it was her finger resting against his skin. There was something naggingly familiar about her, but Chris couldn't place her. When she saw that he was back with them, she drew back and folded her arms in the sleeves of her robe.

"The power is contained." Her voice was soft, melodic even. "But, Leo, this is only a temporary reprieve. He must learn to control it."

"He will," Dad promised. "Thank you, Sandra."

The woman held Dad's gaze for a long moment and then turned back to Chris. Her expression softened into something like pity. "This was… unexpected. And the timing unfortunate. You are young for such a responsibility and the consequences have been too great. For that I apologise. Perhaps we should have… but no matter. We should look to the future, and the days when you have mastered this power. For then you will be an important ally for the side of Good."

"That's enough," Mom snapped. "You're confusing him."

The woman inclined her head. "Very well. Leo, it was good to see you again. You too, Piper."

Mom snorted. The woman smiled faintly and then orbed out.

Chris's head was swimming and he was glad he was sitting down. He could still feel the power inside, but it was subdued. Quieter. And it no longer burned. Whatever that woman had done, it had worked. He felt almost… normal. The relief was intoxicating.

"Chris?"

His family were all looking at him and he realised his mom had been trying to get his attention. "It's okay," he told them. "Mom, I'm okay."

She swept him up into a hug. "Mom," he protested half-heartedly.

"Hush," she murmured, releasing him and brushing his hair back out of his eyes. What she saw there obviously didn't reassure her because she frowned. "You should go lie down."

"I'm fine."

"Don't argue with me, Chris," she said firmly. "You're exhausted."

It was true, he was. But there were also things he needed to know.

"Who was that woman?"

"It's not important." Mom took his arm and tried to lead him towards the stairs. Chris pulled away, the world spinning slightly on its axis. "It's not – how is it not important? What did she do to me?"

"She helped you to control your ability."

"Yeah, I know that but –"

"Chris, not now."

"So you tell me later then?"

"Don't be smart with me."

Frustration made his words sharp. "Then stop trying to brush me off! What's going on?"

Mom glared at him, tight-lipped. He glanced beyond her, to his brother and sister, but they didn't offer him any answers. Wyatt looked tense and worried, and Melinda was refusing to meet anybody's eyes.

It was left to Dad to break the silence. "It's called electrokinesis," he said quietly, "and you inherited it from me."

* * *

><p>They ended up in the lounge, Chris, Wyatt and Melinda on the couch and their parents in the chairs opposite. Mom had tried to get Melinda to leave, protesting she was too young, but Wyatt had insisted. Eleven she might be but Melinda had seen what had happened in the attic, he'd stated calmly. She deserved answers as much as the rest of them. Mom hadn't liked it, but she'd relented.<p>

Dad sat forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. For a moment he didn't speak. Chris waited impatiently, unconsciously curling and uncurling his fingers.

"I was only an Elder for a short time. I didn't want the responsibility, but circumstances forced my hand and… well, I accepted the promotion. Wyatt, you were very young at the time so you probably don't remember." He paused, but Wyatt didn't say anything. "The point is that I was still an Elder when your mom got pregnant with you, Chris. It never crossed our minds that there would be consequences of this – we just assumed you'd have the standard Whitelighter powers with some extra Witch magic thrown in. If it had… well I could have warned you what to expect.

"Electrokinesis is one of the most powerful Elder abilities. I didn't use it much and when I did…" A shadow crossed his face and the words faltered. In the other chair, Mom had stiffened, but she remained silent. After a few moments, Dad swallowed and continued. "It was both addictive and terrifying. It's tied more tightly to emotions than any other power I've experienced and when fuelled by anger – it can be devastating. As soon as Wyatt described what happened, I knew. It's why I called Sandra down – I knew only an Elder could help you learn control, Chris."

Electrokinesis. An Elder power. It sounded so grand and impressive. A week, a day, hell, even a couple of hours ago, Chris would have been revelling in the idea of an exciting new ability. But now, with his dad's words echoing in his ears and the memory of what had happened in the attack, he just felt sick. Whatever that woman had done was only temporary, which meant that sometime soon, the lightning was going to be back. And if he couldn't master it…

He must have given something away, because Dad shot him a reassuring smile. "Your Mom and I have been speaking to the Elders and they're confident that we'll be able to train you how to use this power properly. It'll be okay, Chris, I promise."

"The Elders aren't teaching him?" Wyatt interrupted, looking alarmed.

Mom scowled while Dad shook his head. "They don't believe in getting involved with our affairs unless it's absolutely necessary."

"And they don't think this is necessary?"

"Sandra trusts that we can teach Chris ourselves."

"But what if –" Wyatt broke off, embarrassed, even though it was clear what he'd been going to say.

"We'll deal with it as a family," Mom finished, in a tone that brooked no arguments. "As we always do."

"Can't you just take it away?"

Chris's question brought them all up short. The silence that followed was so abrupt and absolute that he could hear the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hall. Unconsciously he began to breathe in time to it.

"Is that what you want?" Dad asked carefully.

Chris shrugged, unwilling to commit. Honestly, he wasn't sure. The idea had only just come to him, spilling out before he had time to think it through.

"Chris?"

"I don't know." He had to stand, to move, to walk this off. But with them all crowded into the lounge, there wasn't a lot of room and he ended up over by the fireplace, staring at himself in the mirror. Dark hair hung limply against skin that was so pale he could almost see the veins beneath. He looked like a vampire. Or a scared little boy who has just thrown lightning from his hands.

"Is that even possible?" Wyatt wondered.

"Binding all powers is," Mom explained. "Grams did that to me and your aunts when we were children, but singular powers –?"

"I've never heard of that happening," Dad said slowly. "Perhaps the Elders…"

They were all so quick to agree, Chris thought as the conversation continued behind him. All so quick to jump on board with his request to abandon a part of his magical heritage. Had he scared them _that_ much with his display in the attic? Or was it that they didn't think he could handle it?

His watched Melinda in the mirror. His little sister had been uncharacteristically quiet during all of the uproar, sitting back, huddled in on herself, almost like she wanted to disappear into the sofa cushions. Wyatt had healed her arm, but there was still white dust in her hair. It made her look older than her eleven years, as did the unusually serious expression on her young face.

When she saw him looking, she slid off the sofa and padded over to join him.

"You should give it up."

Her voice was quiet enough that their parents and Wyatt didn't hear, but Chris did and he was taken aback. Melinda _loved _magic. It was the centre of her whole universe. She was fiercely proud of their magical heritage and took great delight in sharing with anyone who'd listen that they were part of the most powerful magical family in the world and she was personally descended from a Whitelighter and a Charmed One. Once Chris had even caught her painstakingly drawing out their family tree. She'd sworn it was for a class project but he'd seen her sneaking it into the Book of Shadows when she'd thought no one was looking. For her to be standing in front of him, willing him to give up this new power, said more than a thousand words from his parents ever could.

"Why would you say that?"

She traced the carving on the mantelpiece, digging her nail into the wood.

"Mel?" he prompted.

She continued digging. "You said it first."

"I was just…" Just what? he wondered. Considering my options? "Thinking out loud."

She jumped on that one. "Me too."

"_Mel_."

She twisted around to face him, eyes dark and wide, somehow begging him to understand something that was beyond his reach. "It's dangerous."

He couldn't deny that. "Dangerous to demons, sure, but… that's good, right?"

"I guess."

"But…?"

"It hurts people."

Whether consciously or not, Melinda had cut straight to the heart of the matter. The power was so raw, so out of control, that the thought of what he could do with it by accident terrified him. In the attic he'd obviously acted on some kind of instinct, striking out at the demons to protect his siblings. But what if he didn't make the distinction between family and enemy next time? What if they were in the firing line? As much as he liked to hold himself aloof from his family at time, he'd never be able to forgive himself if he hurt one of them. And that Elder, she'd talked about responsibility and consequences and being an ally for Good. He was fifteen. He wanted to be hanging out with his friends, not worrying that he was going to destroy them with the flick of a hand.

The irony of it all almost took his breath away. For years he'd envied Wyatt his powers, bristling with resentment every time his older brother received attention and praise just because he was the twice-blessed child. And now, when he finally had an ability of his own to rival Wyatt's, all he could think was that he wanted it gone. Did that make him a coward?

"I don't want to hurt anyone," he murmured, finally understanding where the suggestion to give up his power had come from.

Melinda touched his arm in an oddly mothering gesture. She looked so sad, he thought distantly. Why does she look so sad?

"I don't want to hurt anyone." He said it loudly enough that his parents and Wyatt would hear too. They broke off their conversation and in the reflection from the mirror he saw his parents exchange a long look. Then dad rose and came up behind him and Melinda, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.

"I can't promise anything, but I'll see what I can do."


	11. Chapter Eleven: Wyatt

**Chapter Eleven – Wyatt**

The coffin was lowered slowly into the grave. Mrs Trent burst into a fresh wave of tears, pressing her already soaking handkerchief against her mouth. Her husband remained stoic, arms by his sides, making no effort to comfort her. From across the other side of the gathering, Wyatt could see the strain on the older man's face and felt a sharp pang of guilt.

The police had ruled the incident a tragic accident and so the bodies of Austin, Jake and Warren had finally been released for burial. Coach Samuraki had called the team together earlier that week and broken the news, working on the assumption that they would want to pay their respects. He'd taken Wyatt aside afterwards and explained that he'd spoken to the boys' parents and no one would be offended if Wyatt didn't come, given the circumstances of their deaths. It had given him the perfect out and yet… here he was.

The priest came to end of his sermon and closed his small bible before asking if anyone else would like to say a few words. Mr Trent cleared his throat but for a moment, no words came out. A slender dark-haired girl of no more than fourteen slipped her hand into his and Mr Trent seemed to find strength in her touch because he began describing his son's life in a deep, faltering voice.

As the words washed over him, Wyatt wondered, not for the first time that morning, why he was here. Was it a sense of duty? That nagging guilt? Or genuine mourning? He and Warren hadn't been close exactly, but they'd grown up together, played on the same teams, celebrated the same successes. Under any other circumstances he wouldn't have thought twice about attending the the funeral. But Warren had hurt his brother. Badly. He'd gone at Chris with a knife and if Chris's powers hadn't protected him, God knows what would have happened. Maybe he'd be standing over Chris's grave now, listening to their parents' cries.

The speeches finished, the priest drew the service to a close. Wyatt hung back as others went to pay their last respects, dropping handfuls of soil into the grave and murmuring condolences to Warren's parents. A blonde-haired girl he vaguely recognised from school was crying, clinging to the hand of a dark-haired friend, while beyond them several of Wyatt's teammates were talking quietly. One of them looked up and, seeing Wyatt, raised a hand in greeting. Wyatt nodded back but didn't join them, turning on his heel instead and walking off across the cemetery. He didn't have any particular destination in mind, but his feet found their way to a solitary bench beneath a weeping willow tree. A small gold plaque stated "In loving memory of Nancy Clayton, 1956 – 2011". Who had she been? he wondered briefly. What kind of life had she lived that a bench dedicated to her memory would be placed here?

Wyatt settled onto the bench and gratefully loosened his tie. It was the only part of what he was wearing that was actually his. The suit had been borrowed from his dad, and apparently sometime over the last few years he'd grown broader across the chest than Leo because it was uncomfortably tight. He undid the top button of the shirt for good measure.

His dad was the only one who knew he'd gone to the funeral. Wyatt had considered sneaking out, or just flat-out lying, but that had seemed so irresponsible after everything that had happened recently. So his dad had been the obvious choice and, luckily, had supported his decision without passing judgement. It was something Wyatt had always appreciated about his dad – that way he had of knowing when to step back and trust his kids to make the right decisions, whether he agreed with them or not. Mom wouldn't have been so understanding.

"Hey, man."

Wyatt looked up. Reid Matthews was hovering awkwardly before him, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black trousers. Like Wyatt he was wearing a suit jacket, with a black shirt underneath. Unlike Wyatt, his were probably designer.

"Reid, hi." Wyatt slid across to free up room on the bench and after a brief hesitation, Reid dropped down beside him. They sat in silence for a while, Wyatt watching as mourners drifted out of the graveyard, Reid with his elbows on his knees and his hands buried in his thick dark hair.

"This is so messed up."

Reid's voice was muffled and Wyatt had to strain to hear him.

"I can't believe Warren's… it's just messed up."

Wyatt didn't know what to say. He'd barely spoken to Reid since that awful night. They'd passed each other in the hallways and shared a couple of classes, but it was almost like Reid had been going out of his way to avoid Wyatt. Not that Wyatt could blame him; every time he looked at Reid it brought everything back.

Reid blew out a breath and sat back, absently brushing his hair back into place. "I've never been to a funeral of someone I really knew before," he confessed. "My great-aunt died a couple of years back, but I'd seen her like once in my whole life. Warren I saw every day. Every day. And now he's – and Austin and Jake –" He swallowed hard. "I can't get that night out my head. Seeing them just _lying_ there…"

A flash. Dark brown hair framing an achingly familiar face. Blood pooling over white skin. "Reid, don't. Please."

"I know, it's sick right? I just keep thinking about it. Like, what if we'd been quicker? Or – or what if I'd called the cops sooner?"

Wyatt closed his eyes briefly. "Look, can you just stop talking about it?

Reid didn't seem to hear him. "But then they were already dead so…" He shook his head. "It wouldn't have made a difference. I know that. I _know_. It's just… God, how did we get here?" Mercifully Reid fell silent after that. Wyatt pushed the disturbing memories his friend's words had

conjured aside and glanced at his watch, wincing when he saw how the morning had slipped away. If he didn't leave soon, his mom was going to start getting suspicious.

He stood up, stretching his legs to loosen them up. "Need a lift?"

"My jag's fixed," Reid said distantly.

"Okay… I'll see you at school, yeah?"

Reid didn't reply. Wyatt hovered awkwardly for a few beats and then fished his keys out of his pocket. They glinted in the morning sun, metallic and cold. He could have orbed, but that had been Dad's one stipulation. Magic was only to be used in emergencies right now.

He'd only taken a few steps down the path when Reid spoke again. "Did you hear what the cops said?"

Wyatt hesitated, heart beginning to beat just a little faster. He turned back to find Reid looking directly at him. "That it was an accident," he said, instincts warning him to tread carefully. "A chemical explosion."

"Yeah."

The police had released a statement to that effect when they'd released the bodies. The official story was that traces of an explosive chemical compound had been found among the debris, as well as several cigarette butts, which is what the cops believed had triggered the explosion in the first place. It was all a little too neat and Wyatt strongly suspected there had been a magical hand there somewhere, but he hadn't asked. As awful as it sounded, he didn't want the responsibility of that knowledge.

"Don't you think it's a bit weird?"

"Not really."

Reid seemed nonplussed by that. "You don't think a great flash of blue light is weird? And those marks on their skin?"

"Reid, it was an explosion. The cops said –"

"I know what they said."

"But you don't believe them." Wyatt's heart was racing now. He hadn't expected this, from Reid of all people.

"No. Maybe. I just – there's stuff that doesn't add up and I – I don't understand. That flash of light didn't look anything like the explosions you see on TV. It was all blue and… flashy. And there was no sound. Explosions make sounds, right? But did you hear anything, 'cos I didn't. I didn't hear anything. So it couldn't have been explosion. But if it wasn't any explosion then what… and why would the cops say…" He looked up at Wyatt, dark eyes full of the kind of confused despair that Wyatt had been seeing every time he looked in the mirror recently. "Did they lie? It doesn't make any sense…"

_God, he's just like I was_, _looking for answers_, Wyatt thought a little desperately. _Why didn't I see this coming? Reid isn't stupid – of course he'd ask questions. What am I going to say to him?_

Wyatt drew a blank. He didn't want to lie to Reid, but he couldn't be honest either because for one thing his friend didn't know anything about the magical world and for another thing he had to protect Chris. But maybe he didn't have to lie. Maybe he could just talk about something else, get Reid's mind off conspiracies and the cracks in the story they'd been told.

And so Wyatt settled back onto the bench and started to talk. It was something he'd always been good at and after he got over the initial awkwardness, the words came easily, wandering from subject to subject. Flashes of his own emotions came through as he spoke and soon it was all pouring out, his frustration, his guilt, his fear, in an inelegant tangle. It was the first time he'd really admitted his feelings since the beginning of this nightmare and while he was mainly sharing them for Reid's benefit, it was also oddly cathartic. Reid was the one person who could understand the horror of what they'd seen that day and they'd been so busy avoiding the subject, skirting round one another, that they'd lost sight of that.

Finally Wyatt's words dried up and he lapsed into silence. Reid had remained uncharacteristically still throughout and when Wyatt chanced a look at his friend, he saw why – Reid was visibly struggling to hold onto his composure.

"I didn't want to believe it," his friend admitted at length, blinking rapidly. "I thought if the police had got it wrong then maybe…"

"I know."

"But they're dead, aren't they? They're really dead."

"Yeah."

The tears came then and Wyatt instinctively put his arm around Reid's shoulders. The storm of emotion passed quickly and then Reid was pulling away, cheeks flushed and clearly embarrassed. "You know I love you, man, but people will talk."

Wyatt found himself grinning for the first time in what felt like months. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed Reid. "Let them."

"What about your carefully crafted rep?"

Wyatt shrugged. "It'll survive."

"Not sure what Helena will say, but okay."

_Helena_. Wyatt hadn't thought about her in weeks. Which probably told him that their relationship wasn't going to be a long-term one. Had she called him about Chris? He couldn't remember. It wasn't important. Not now.

"Ready to go?"

Reid nodded, brushing his hair back from his face and straightening. "Wanna grab a beer?"

It was a tempting offer, but Dad had trusted him to come here today and Wyatt didn't want to reward him by returning home drunk. "Better not."

"Yeah," Reid agreed, surprising him. "Not sure I'd be able to stop myself today." He stood up and brushed down his suit trousers. "Back to the ice box." At Wyatt's confused expression, he added, "Dad's back and Brandy's pissed. It's like deep freeze central."

"You could come back to mine," Wyatt offered impulsively, but Reid shook his head. "Thanks man, but I need some alone time. Nowhere better to get that than at home."

They headed back towards the parking lot. Reid's sleek little black jag was taking up two spaces as usual. "See you at school?" he asked, unlocking it.

Wyatt nodded and Reid slipped inside the car. Wyatt caught hold of the door before he closed it again. "It gets easier."

Reid fingered his steering wheel. "Yeah? When would that be?"

Wyatt thought back to the people he'd lost in the past. "When you least expect it."

* * *

><p>When he got back to the manor he walked straight into the middle of his parent's latest argument. And he wasn't the only one who'd done so. Billie Jenkins was sitting at their kitchen table, looking horribly uncomfortable. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and the deep tan she was sporting spoke of some serious time in the sun. About a year ago Billie had split from her long-time boyfriend and the last Wyatt had heard, she'd been over in Australia, helping Aunt Paige out with some local charges and generally loving the single life. To see her here, in his kitchen, was just plain weird.<p>

For a moment he just hung back in the doorway, trying to remain unobtrusive and half-wondering if he could get away with sneaking back out and coming in the front door. Before he could, Billie caught sight of him and called, "Hi, Wyatt," in an overly loud voice.

His parents broke off immediately and as soon as Mom looked at him, Wyatt realised his mistake. He was dressed in funeral blacks in the middle of the day. There was no way he was going to be able to talk himself out of this one.

"Hey Billie," he replied slowly. "Um, how are you?" It seemed like the polite thing to say.

Her smile had an air of desperation about it. "Good, good. Hey, I bought you a souvenir from Down Under." She rifled through the bright blue bag at her feet, and pulled out a plush kangaroo. "Nope, not that one." The kangaroo was unceremoniously stuffed back inside and she emerged with a small vial of sand, which she set on the table. It caught the light, sending a miniature rainbow skittering across the table top, and chasing all thoughts of funerals and Warren and Chris from his head.

"Where's it from?"

"A very special beach."

"A magical beach?"

Billie grinned. "Add it to your collection."

He picked it up, turning the vial over in his fingers. Even when it was out of the light, it shimmered like grains of silver. Billie had bought him his first bottle of sand when he was five – he could still remember the vibrant reds and yellows and greens. Apparently has five year old self had been thrilled by the present and since then, it had been a running joke between the two of them that whenever Billie came back from somewhere exotic, she brought a little piece of her time there back with her. It had been years since she'd last given him one. He was surprised she even remembered.

"Thanks," he said fervently.

"You're welcome, kid."

Behind them, Wyatt's parents had fallen into an uneasy silence and when he could ignore it now longer, Wyatt turned around, the vial clenched in one hand.

"What's going on?" he asked boldly.

"Nothing to concern yourself with," Mom said dismissively. Her eyes narrowed. "Where have you been?"

The casual way she tried to brush him off sent a surprising surge of irritation along Wyatt's spine. He was usually a pretty laid back guy, but the events of the last few weeks coupled with his mum's continuing attempts to keep her children away from anything resembling the truth was grating on his last nerve. He'd sat by the side of his little brother's hospital bed. He'd seen what Chris had done to Warren and why. He'd read the terror in Chris's face when the power had threatened to overwhelm him. He'd witnessed all of that and his mom was _still_ insisting on keeping him out of the loop?

"I want to know what's going on," he said firmly.

Mom seemed nonplussed by his attitude. She was more used to getting defiance from Chris than Wyatt.

"Me too," Billie spoke up unexpectedly. When Wyatt glanced back, her elbows were on the table, chin resting on her clasped hands. "You said it was an emergency so I hauled myself back from Wagga Wagga only to sit in your kitchen for half an hour while you and Leo tear strips off each other? What gives guys?"

If it had just been him, Wyatt reckoned Mom would have kept fighting. But Billie was an adult and they obviously needed her for something so… Mom caved. Well, not caved exactly, but she didn't interrupt when Dad closed the kitchen door and started explaining.

"The Elders can't help Chris."

"Can't… or won't?" Someone had obviously clued Billie in on the situation with Chris.

"Can't." Dad leaned against the island, folding his arms across his chest. "They could bind his powers completely, but that wouldn't solve the underlying problem unless Chris wants to live without his powers for his entire life. The moment we unbind them again, he'll still have an uncontrollable ability and we're back to square one."

"So why am I here?"

Dad took a deep breath. "Piper wants you to use your projection powers to take us back into the past and prevent any of this from happening in the first place."

Wyatt felt a surge of hope. Of course! Along with the usual witch magic, and being a dab hand at telekinesis, Billie's greatest power was her ability to manipulate time and reality itself. She could slip into the past as easily as breathing.

It was difficult to read Billie's expression. "Why not just get Coop to do it?"

"His ring is too imprecise –" Mom began.

"He refused," Dad interrupted. "Said it wasn't his place."

"Why would he say that?" Wyatt asked, bewildered. Uncle Coop was family.

It was Billie who answered. "There are consequences when you change the past. Sometimes bad ones, even when you think you're doing something good." Her lips titled upwards in an ironic half-smile that he didn't quite understand. "Took me a long time to appreciate that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, say I was to go back and help Chris. You know, stop the attack before it even happens so that this – what did you call it?"

"Electrokinesis," Dad supplied.

"Electrokinesis, right. So I stop the attack and Chris's electrowhatsit power doesn't manifest. What happens when the demons attack Melinda in the attic?"

Wyatt thought about that for a moment. "Well… we'd know it was going to happen now, right? So we'd be prepared."

"Maybe," Billie allowed, "but you don't know what else might have changed too. Like, the demons might attack at a different time. Or in a different place, where one of you is vulnerable –"

"You could say that about our lives already," Wyatt argued. "We're used to it."

Billie sighed. "You don't make this easy, do you? Alright, theoretically I could save Chris. But that's not going to stop this – Warren? That isn't going to stop him from coming after Chris, is it? Unless I go back even further and stop whatever set him on that path in the first place, in which case I'd have to alter even more timelines and probably cause some kind of giant paradox… all just to stop something that, when you look at it, was probably pretty inevitable."

There was a brief pause. Wyatt felt like he should argue harder, but Billie's words made sense. His parents had always impressed upon them the importance of rules within the magical world. To ask Billie to compromise herself like that… he began to see why Uncle Coop had refused.

"You're not going to help Chris, are you?" Mom realised bitterly.

Billie shook her head. "No. No, Piper, just let me finish okay? I can't help him. If I abuse my powers like that, the Elders will have something to say. Or worse, the Cleaners."

Mom slammed her hand down on the island. "He's my son! After everything we've done for you –"

"It's because of that that I won't do this," Billie interrupted, standing up and coming around the table, taking Mom's hands in hers, forcing the smaller woman to look at her. "Piper, you know I'd help if I could. I may not be related by blood, but I love you guys. I love _Chris_. But who was it that always told me that we're given our powers for a reason? Who taught me about personal gain?" She pulled Mom into a hug. "I'm sorry. I don't want this for him either, but some things are just meant to be."

Mom held herself stiffly in Billie's embrace and pulled away as soon as she could, yanking cups out of the cupboard with a clatter of china.

"He'll have to be trained then," she said at length, back to them.

"I'll do it," Dad said quietly. "I'm the only one with experience."

"You're also mortal," Mom shot back, slamming the coffee pot into the machine so hard that it threatened to fall off the worktop. "Do you want Chris to be responsible for hurting you too?"

Something in Dad seemed to snap. "What do you want from me, Piper?" he demanded hoarsely. "Do you want me to say this is all my fault? That I cursed our son with this power? That I'm – that I'm _sorry_? I've said all those things over and over and over again and you're still punishing me. So what is it that you want? Just tell me and I'll do it because I… I can't do this anymore."

They stared at each other across the island, within touching distance but miles apart. Wyatt had known his parents were having problems, but to hear it all laid out there like that, raw and bare and bleeding, made him want to weep. His parents had always been so strong and together. As a child he'd seen them as this amazing superhero-like pair who could chase away any problems and protect him from any evil. Demons, darklighters and warlocks fled in the face of their power. Even the Source of all Evil had been defeated. But now… now he just saw them as human. Flawed, frightened humans who would rather tear each other to pieces than face up to their own inability to keep their son safe.

They needed him, Wyatt realised in that moment. His family needed him. Chris, Melinda… they wouldn't be able to handle their parents' problems, not on top of everything else. And as great as his aunts and uncles were, they weren't here at the manor day in day out. Wyatt was. He was the oldest; at seventeen, practically an adult. And with powers like his, responsibility had been a watch-word since he was old enough to speak. So it made perfect sense for him to offer, "I'll train Chris."

Even with those startling words, it took his parents a few seconds to remember that there were other people in the room. The Mom blinked and Dad rubbed his hands over his face and they were back, united in their opposition to his suggestion.

"Out of the question," Mom said instantly, while Dad agreed. "Not a good idea, Wyatt."

"Why?" Wyatt made his tone deliberately belligerent, inviting them to continue their alliance against him. At least it kept them from each other's throats. "Dad, you said you're the only one with the experience, but Mom's right – you're mortal. You can't orb to safety. You can't heal. New powers are dangerous and unpredictable – what if Chris loses control again?"

Dad didn't have an answer for that, but Mom wasn't done. "Wyatt, don't be stupid. You don't know anything about electrokinesis. I know you must be upset about Chris, but we really don't need this right now. Now will you go and see if Melinda is ready please? We're supposed to be going to your Aunt Paige's for lunch."

Wyatt refused to budge. "Okay, so I don't know anything about electrokinesis. But I do know a little something about trying to control a power that could level a city block. I'm the best choice for this and if you just took a moment to think about it, you'd agree. I've got a forcefield for God's sake! If it'll make you feel better I'll stand behind that the whole time."

"We're not talking about this." Mom swept passed them and yanked the kitchen door open.

"Melinda, we're leaving!" A faint reply floated back to them, making Mom scowled. "No, not in five minutes, young lady. Right now."

"Dad, c'mon," Wyatt beseeched. "You know I can do this."

Dad looked torn. "It's not as simple as you're making it sound, Wyatt. We have to think of what's best for Chris –"

"Just give me a chance."

He'd pushed too far and Mom proved why she could quiet a house-full of Halliwell children with one look. "Wyatt, you're seventeen years old. You're still a child in the eyes of the state and in this house. The answer is "no". Do you hear me? I don't want to have to have this conversation again." She turned to leave the kitchen and almost ran straight into Melinda, who was standing there with wide eyes, her bag dangling from her hand.

"Where are you shoes?" Mom demanded. Melinda glanced down at her socked feet and back up again, but before she could reply, Mom cut in. "For goodness sake, Melinda, I know we're orbing but you still need shoes!"

Melinda bit her lip. "We're not taking the car?"

"Parking at your aunt's is a nightmare and we're running late as it is. Now go and get your shoes on."

"But I don't want –"

"_Now_, Melinda."

As Melinda fled, face drawn and unhappy, Mom scooped up her purse from the table and then cast about for her mobile. It was on the side, next to the kettle, but Wyatt didn't tell her that. If he did then she'd leave and that would be it. Case closed. Another argument lost.

Anger fizzed deep inside. _No_, he thought. _Not this time_.This was too important.

"I'm not a child," he said forcefully, using that anger to give weight to his words. "I'm a fully grown, powerful witch – more powerful than any other witch on the planet. Do you know what that's like? It means I'm responsible twenty-four-seven. And cautious. And careful. I don't take risks, I don't mess around and I know more about control than anyone else in this family, living or dead. Because I had to learn or I would have blown up San Francisco and probably half of California too. I _know_ what it feels like to be frightened of yourself and what you can do, to want to bury your head and wish it all away." He paused for breath, conscious his voice had risen and fighting to quieten it again. "I can help Chris, I know I can. You just have to trust me."

His parents were staring at him with the strangest expressions on their faces. Dad looked… well, almost proud. And Mom – Mom was pale, like something had spooked her, and she was studying him so intently he began to wonder if there was something wrong. He wanted to ask her about it, but it wasn't the time.

In the end, help came from an unexpected source. Billie, who had returned to her seat behind the table sometime during the fight, picked up her bag and rose, slinging it over her shoulder. "Wyatt's right," she said simply. "You of all people should know how strong the bond between siblings is. Whenever anything happened with your powers, who helped you train them?" She let that hang in the air for a moment. "It's a no-brainer guys. Now I'm going to take Melinda to Paige's so that you can iron things out, okay?" She edged between them and paused in the kitchen doorway. "Piper, Leo? Trust your sons. You _know_ they turn out okay."

With that baffling statement, Billie Jenkins swept out of the kitchen, leaving silence in her wake.

"She's right, Piper," Dad said at length. Mom made a sound of protest, but he shook his head. "No, she is."

"It's not the same. Everything's… different. The electrokinesis – we don't know if that –"

"Piper," Dad interrupted gently, "she's right."

Mom pressed her hands to her mouth and took a deep breath. All the fight seemed to have drained out of her. "I know," she murmured.

Dad put a hand on Wyatt's shoulder and squeezed. "Alright," he said. "Alright, we'll try it your way. But the first time anything goes wrong – the _first_, Wyatt – that's it and your mom and I take over. Understood?"

"Yeah," Wyatt agreed quickly. "Yeah, 'course."

And just like that it was decided.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Melinda

**A.N: **Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, although I have a pretty good reason: I ended up writing it twice. The first version was a completely different scenario and it just didn't move the story along enough, so I had to start again from scratch. Generally I'm much happier with this version and it's also given more structure to Melinda's plotline, which is something I've been struggling with.

As always, thanks to everyone who's reviewed this story so far and I hope you continue to enjoy it for many chapters to come :) I'd like to give a quick shout-out to **Sblck **in particular, because something they said in their review of the last chapter sparked off an idea that has helped to shape the next part of this story. Thanks **Sblck**!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twelve – Melinda<strong>

"…So then I run into this pair of cute Japanese warlocks at a beach café in Adelaide, and one of them said – his name was Kira and he had this _amazing_ accent – Kira said…"

Melinda pressed her cheek against the cool glass of the car window and let Billie's words wash over her. Outside the city streets were flashing past and they probably only had ten more minutes before they reached Aunt Paige's. It was raining steadily, and Melinda watched as a big, fat raindrop hit the window and slithered down it.

"… and I was like, he's a really nice guy – it's such a shame I'm going to have to vanquish him… "

Another droplet splashed against the window. The sky outside was darkening, like it did just before a thunderstorm. Normally Melinda liked thunderstorms – well, not the thunder so much as the lightning – but thinking about lightning right now just made her think about Chris. There was something going on there, something to do with why Billie was visiting all of a sudden, but for once, Melinda had kept her nose out. Every time she'd eavesdropped lately she'd just heard loads of bad news, or another of her parents' endless arguments – or both.

"Mels? Hey, wakey wakey over there!" Billie gently shook her shoulder and Melinda realised the older woman had been trying to get her attention for a while. When she saw she finally had it, Billie affected a pained expression. "Here I am, sharing some seriously juicy stories about my time down under and you're not even listening! I thought you loved my stories."

"I was listening," Melinda protested unconvincingly.

"And I'm a furry wombat. You've been somewhere else all journey. What gives, Mels?"

"N-Nothing."

"Is it Chris? Are you worried about him?"

Melinda almost laughed. Everything was always about Chris, wasn't it? Even when it wasn't, his name still wormed its way into the conversation.

"I know what's happening to him is scary, Mel, but your parents and Wyatt are on the case so there's nothing to worry about."

Why did adults always say that? Didn't they know that the only time those words got trotted out was precisely when there _was_ something to worry about?

"So cheer up, yeah? I'm sure Kat and Tamora are looking forward to seeing you."

Kat and Tamora would want to practice the spell they'd learned in their spell casting class at Magic School last week, Melinda just knew it. The thought made her grow cold.

"Mels?"

"Yeah, it'll be fun," Melinda said woodenly, turning back to her contemplation of the raindrops to avoid any further conversation.

They'd driven for about five more minutes before Melinda noticed that the familiar route to Aunt Paige's had vanished. She wondered if perhaps Billie was taking a shortcut she didn't know about. Apparently not, because a few moments later Billie was pulling into an isolated parking lot overlooking the San Francisco Bay. Melinda could just make out the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, brilliant against the grey sky.

Billie switched off the engine and twisted around in her seat. "Okay, spill."

"Why have we stopped?" Melinda side-stepped the question.

Billie's blue eyes were kind. "Because something's obviously got you all tied up inside and if I've learned anything from your aunt it's that it's good to share, so spill."

Billie wasn't going to let this go, and Melinda wasn't sure she even wanted her to, but how to put into words the thoughts and feelings and fears of the last couple of months? And wouldn't speaking them aloud just make them that much more real?

"Mels, it's okay to be scared or upset or – or angry, or want to just… scream at the world. You wanna scream? _I_ wanna scream too. Let's do it together, c'mon." Aunt Billie let out a cry that made Melinda jump and look around frantically. What was Billie doing? What if someone heard them?

"There's no one around," Billie dismissed her fears easily. "Go on, give it a try." She let out another cry, banging her hands on the steering wheel for good measure and accidently honking the horn. "Wow, this really works. I feel better already."

It was stupid and pointless, but Melinda found herself being swept up in Billie's enthusiasm. As the other woman screamed for a third time, Melinda joined in, voice rising, emotions pouring out of her in the most primal way possible until she was hoarse and there were tears in her eyes. She tried to hide it behind her hair, but then the tears spilled over and Billie was out of the car in a flash, heedless of the rain, opening the door on Melinda's side and drawing her into a hug. Melinda buried her face in the crook of Billie's neck and clung to the older woman, sobbing so hard it actually hurt. For the first time in such a long time she felt safe and secure and it was like a flood barrier bursting open.

"That's it, sweetheart, just let it all out," Billie murmured, stroking her hair. "I'm here, I've got you."

She cried for a long time. It felt like hours. But eventually the tears dried up and she was left with the stuffy nose, itchy eyes and slight headache she always got after a storm of crying. Along with a strange sense of calm.

"Okay now?" Billie asked gently.

Melinda nodded, sniffling. Billie tweaked her nose playfully. "Not a good look for you, Mels Bels."

Melinda gave her a watery smile in return. Billie rose to her feet with a groan, rubbing the small of her back. "I'm getting too old for this. And too wet. Wanna get out of here and grab some lunch?"

"Aren't I supposed to be going to Aunt Paige's?"

Billie waved an indulgent hand. "Eh, I'll fix it. What'dya think about Italian?"

* * *

><p>In the end they picked up a takeaway pizza each from a shop around the corner and then returned to the car. The rain had eased off by this time, so Billie led the way down into the park below and they found a bench that offered a beautiful view out across the bay.<p>

"Good?"

Melinda munched on a slice of pepperoni pizza and nodded. Being a chef, Mom wasn't a fan of takeaway food so it was a bit of a novelty.

Billie polished off her final slice of hawaiian with a happy sign and then sat back, hands on her stomach. "That was _such_ a good idea. There are some times in life where pizza really is the only answer. Just… don't tell your mom, okay? I'm not sure she'd understand."

Melinda nodded again, swallowing and then taking another bite. They sat in companionable silence for a time, Melinda steadily working her way through her pizza and Billie watching the world go by. When Melinda had finished, she licked her fingers clean and stacked her box on top of Billie's. She found herself wanting to say something, to explain her reaction in the parking lot somehow, but she wasn't sure where to start.

She settled on something vague. "Billie… why are you here?"

"I'm enjoying a pizza with my favourite honorary niece," Billie joked. Melinda giggled, just a little. "Your parents asked me to help Chris, but I couldn't. Anyway, I reckon I can do more good helping his little sister instead."

Someone was putting her before Chris. Melinda couldn't remember the last time that had happened, and she felt a rush of affection for Billie.

"So how are things at home? Your mom and dad…"

"They argue. A lot." Melinda looked down at her feet. She'd pulled on her shoes so quickly she hadn't thought much about what she was wearing and the red sneakers didn't really match her dark green tights. Billie didn't seem to mind though. "It's pretty much all the time now."

"You know it's just 'cos they're worried about Chris, right? It's nothing to do with you, Mels."

"I know, but… they're just so angry all the time! Mom shouts and blames Dad, and Dad doesn't defend himself…" She swung her legs gently. "When they're not fighting they're all quiet, which is almost worse. What if they –"

"What if they what, Mels?"

Melinda swallowed and then took the plunge. "What if they get divorced?"

"Woah, woah, woah," Billie swivelled around on the bench and stared at her. "Where d'you get that crazy idea? Your parents love each other – they're not going to get a divorce."

"But they argue all the time!" Melinda cried. "They attack each other and say horrible things –"

Billie caught her arms in a gentle grip. "They're just upset and frightened, Mels, and they don't know how to handle it so they're taking it out on other. I know on the surface it seems bad, but it doesn't change how they feel, deep down. Trust me, I've never seen two people so in love. Well, maybe your Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Coop but he's a cupid so that doesn't really count." She grinned, but Melinda didn't return it and Billie sobered. "Mels, listen to me. I've known your parents for a long time and they have fought over and over again to be together. They broke the rules, they kept it secret, they even defied the Elders – because they loved each other. They're not going to throw that away."

Billie sounded so certain. Melinda desperately wanted to believe her, but she'd been holding on to the idea of her parent's divorcing for so long that it was difficult to let it go, no matter how irrational it was beginning to sound. So she focused on something else that Billie had mentioned instead. "They defied the Elders?"

"Er, your parents didn't tell you about that?" When Melinda shook her head, Billie winced. "Ah, well, um, basically… okay, your mom and dad wanted to get married, but back then it was against the rules for whitelighter's and their charges to fall in love. Long story short: they held a secret wedding, which the Elders interrupted, and your dad got taken away, then your mom went on strike to get him back and, er, some stuff happened, and some other stuff… oh and then there was this evil warlock who was killing all the whitelighters, but your mom and aunts sorted him out and in return for saving their sorry butts, the Elders finally gave them permission to get married and they did! End of story." Billie took a deep breath and blew it out again. "So you see, they're not going to break up at the first sign of trouble after having gone through all that, are they?"

"No," Melinda murmured.

"C'mon, say it with more enthusiasm!"

"No," she repeated more strongly, a smile tugging at her lips. "Because they love each other."

"Yep."

"And they're just scared."

"That's right."

"Billie… will they ever stop fighting?"

"In time," Billie assured her. "Probably when Chris is back on his feet again and things have settled down."

"Pinkie swear?"

It was something they'd done a lot when she was younger, before Billie had started on her round-the-world trips. They hadn't done one for years now… but Billie must have known how important this was to her because she didn't hesitate to hold up the little finger of her right hand. "Pinkie swear."

Melinda locked her finger with Billie's and murmured the words herself. Billie put an arm around her shoulders and Melinda snuggled against her. She felt a little silly that she'd been so worried about something Billie had just laughed off, but at the same time it was like a massive weight had been lifted. Her parents _weren't_ going to get divorce. They loved each other and when things calmed down, they'd remember that. All that worry over nothing!

"Hey, Mels? I want you to promise me something, okay? Promise me that if you ever feel like this again, all mixed up inside, you'll come and talk to me. Doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing – you need me and I'm there, no questions asked. Gotta look after my favourite niece!" She tweaked Melinda's nose again and the girl batted her hands away, a giggle bubbling out of her. She hugged the other woman tightly and Billie laughed, giving her a kiss on the head.

"I promise," Melinda murmured.

She relaxed in the shelter of Billie's arm and watched as a tiny boat sailed out of the bay, passing under the Golden Gate Bridge. It had a tall white sail that billowed in the wind coming off the sea and she wondered where it was sailing to. She'd been sailing once, a couple of years ago. Chris had been fooling around and he'd accidently knocked her into the water, which earned him an impressive lecture from Mom about the importance of safety and looking after your brother and sister. Although Melinda had been indignant about getting wet, even she agreed Mom had gone a bit too far. After all, it's not like she'd ever been in any danger of drowning. She'd been wearing a life jacket and had orbed herself out pretty much straight away –

Melinda stiffened and hoped Billie hadn't noticed. There it was – the other worry that had been on her mind recently. The other reason she'd started crying like a baby, only this one was worse, more personal, something she'd been trying not to think about even now. But Billie had said Melinda could talk to her about anything, and she'd help with the divorce thing, hadn't she, so… maybe it was time to take her up on that offer.

Melinda was hesitating, torn, when Billie abruptly announced, "I think we deserve ice cream. Treat you to some Cookie Dough?"

Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough was her favourite. They'd had some in the pizzeria and she'd been eyeing it then. Melinda agreed instantly, leading the way back through the park, telling herself she wasn't taking the easy way out and that she just really loved ice cream.

Besides, she'd definitely tell Billie later. Definitely.

* * *

><p>Later came a lot sooner than Melinda had expected. She'd just swallowed the last drop of delicious ice cream and was licking the plastic spoon clean when the storm that had been threatening all afternoon finally hit and the rain began pouring down. She yelped and jumped up, Billie grabbing her hand as they ran for the car, throwing the garbage in a nearby trash can as they passed. Billie managed to get the car open on the third try and they spilled inside, spraying water everywhere.<p>

Melinda pushed sopping hair out of her eyes. Billie sneezed once, twice, three times and then let out a groan. "Uh, great, I'll be carrying a cold around for a week now." She sneezed again, sounding so pathetic that Melinda giggled. "Shut up, you," Billie grumbled, reaching around and pulling a towel free of the mess on her backseat. She threw it in Melinda's face.

"Why d'you have a towel in here?" Melinda wondered, voice muffled as she wrung her hair out.

Billie shrugged. "It's an Aussie thing. With so many beach opportunities it's best to be prepared. Gimme. C'mon, gimme!"

They had a bit of a tug of war with the towel, which Billie won with a triumphant, "Ha!" As she rubbed vigorously at her hair, Melinda tried to get her own into some semblance of order before giving up. She probably looked like a poodle, but without her straighteners she was pretty much doomed. She contented herself with the thought that Billie wasn't looking much better.

"So I've had an idea," Billie announced, tossing the towel onto the backseat. "I'm going to be sticking around for a while, catch up with a few old friends, maybe meet some more hot warlocks, and I was thinking we might take on a little project."

Melinda's curiosity was piqued. "What project?"

"Well, you see, we still don't know who those demons are that tried to steal the book, and there could be some more of them out there just waiting for another run at it. Normally your family would be on top of something like that, but I figure they're a bit preoccupied right now so I'm gonna hunt them down myself, get some vanquishing practice in. Wanna help?"

Melinda had been prepared to talk in her own time – maybe – but having the subject thrust upon her made her react without thinking. "No," she blurted.

Billie frowned. "Okay, not the answer I was expecting. I'm not suggesting you come out and fight them, Mels, just help me with the research, maybe lend a bit of an orbing hand –"

"_No_," Melinda repeated, voice growing higher and louder, and she struggled to decide what to do.

"I thought you'd jump at the chance." Billie stared at her, brow creasing even further. "What's going on, Mels?"

"N-Nothing."

"C'mon, have you forgotten your promise already? Talk to me."

"I just…" _Tell her_! "I just don't want to do any magical things right now."

"You don't want to… who are you and what have you done with the real Melinda Halliwell?"

"Don't tease me," Melinda growled, her hands balling into fists. "I don't want to do it, so stop asking!"

Billie held up her hands. "Don't shoot, officer. It was just an idea, Mels, you don't have to jump down my throat. What is going on in that head of yours?"

"My head's fine."

"Really. Then why all the hate for magic all of a sudden?"

"Because it doesn't work when you need it to!" she shouted, her anger and frustration at Billie's endless questions finally doing what her own courage could not. "I couldn't – I couldn't orb away. I tried, but I couldn't. It wouldn't work and the demon was going to… he was standing over me and laughing and I – what if that happens again? What if the demon comes back and I can't orb or – or do anything?"

"Oh, Mels, no – is that what you've been thinking?" Billie took her hands and carefully prised her fingers apart. "Is that why you didn't want to orb to your aunt's?"

When they'd left the manor, she'd asked if they could take Billie's car, coming up with some stupid excuse about wanting to ride it in because it was cool. Billie had agreed without argument, even though Mom had been so insistent that they orb. It was like she'd known somehow that all of this was coming.

"Have you used magic at all since the demons attacked?"

"I couldn't!" she cried, on the verge of tears again. "What if it didn't – I just couldn't!"

"Hey, just slow down and take a breath, okay?" Billie turned Melinda to face her, blue eyes intense. "Tell me what happened. I want to help."

In the face of Billie's patient kindness, it all came rushing out. How she'd gone to the attic to make a love potion for her parents. How the demon had attacked. How she'd tried to fight him off. How her magic had failed and she hadn't been able to orb. How she'd tried to run, only to find herself trapped by more demons.

"I thought I was going to die," Melinda finished in a tiny voice. "I thought the demon was going to kill me. My magic… it wouldn't work. Why wouldn't my magic work, Billie? Why did it abandon me?"

Billie squeezed her hands. "It didn't abandon you, Mels – you were just panicking and sometimes that can affect our control and make it harder to use our powers. But that doesn't mean they're gone for good! They're still inside you, here." Billie pressed a fingertip against Melinda's chest. "I'll prove it to you." She rooted around in the glove compartment and pulled out a tube of lipstick. "Bet you can't take this from me with your magic."

"It won't work," Melinda protested.

"Well, yeah, if you don't even try it sure won't. C'mon." She waggled the lipstick. "It's small – should be as easy for you as breathing."

"I can't!"

"You're a Halliwell, of course you can!"

"No, I –"

"Think of all the wonderful things magic can do – do you really want to live without it, Mels?"

"I… I don't –"

"Then take this lipstick from me!"

Another excuse rose to her lips and then she met Billie's determined gaze. Billie, who was so strong and confident. Billie, who was on her side one hundred percent. _No!_ she thought fiercely, gritting her teeth so hard it hurt. No, she wasn't going to let the fear conquer her, not this time. She was going to be strong, like Billie. She wasn't on her own anymore – she could do this. She _would_ do this.

Melinda held out her hand, focused all her strength on the slender, black tube and called, "Lipstick!"

For a breath, she thought nothing was going to happen – that Billie had been wrong and her power had deserted her, as she'd suspected. Then the familiar blue and white orbs coalesced on the lipstick and a moment later it was resting comfortably in the centre of her palm. Melinda stared at it. "Oh," was all she could think of to say.

"See?" Billie tapped the lipstick. "Nothing wrong with your magic."

Melinda turned the lipstick over in her hand. "So… I was just panicking?" Was it really that simple?

"Pretty much. Powers are tied to emotions, remember? You get all tense and frightened and they're harder to use. It's happened to all of us at one time – even me!" Billie smiled crookedly. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Mels Bels. No one's perfect, so don't expect yourself to be, okay? You're still learning – stuff like this is going to happen. It doesn't mean your magic's gone all bad or abandoned you or anything."

Her powers were okay, they were really okay! Relief made Melinda giddy and if it hadn't been pouring down with rain, she'd have jumped out of the car and danced around it. As it was a stupid smile spread across her face and she hugged the lipstick to her. "Thanks," she whispered to it.

Billie stretched, throwing her hands up dramatically and rotating her neck. "Whew, getting stiff from all this sitting. Time for some demon-hunting action. You in?"

The demon. He'd sneered at her, laughed at her and worst of all, made her doubt her magic. _No one _did that to Melinda P Halliwell! If there were any of them left, then they were going to learn that she was one whitelighter-witch they really shouldn't have messed with.

"I'll make the vanquishing potion," she declared.

Billie grinned. "Welcome to the team, partner."


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Chris

**A/N:** So it's kind of ironic how the chapter I spent the longest agonizing over, and rewrote countless times, is also the chapter that receives the lowest amount of reviews since I started this story. Either I totally missed the mark, or everyone's on holiday – I'm hoping it's the latter because I've been working really hard on this story and right now, I beginning to feel like no one's enjoying it and I'm wasting my time... :( Please prove me wrong with this chapter!

On a side-note, a couple of people have asked about my nationality so I'll clear that up: I'm British. I've tried to make the story as accurate and American as possible, but I know I slip up every now and then so I challenge you all to a game of "Spot the Briticism" (thanks to those who have already pointed some out!) Every right answer wins a year's supply of virtual cookies - mmmmm...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen – Chris<strong>

Chris swung his bag onto his shoulder and opened the car door. Wyatt reached out and caught his arm. "Chris, wait a sec."

Annoyed, Chris pulled his arm free. "What?"

"Just – take it easy today, okay?" Wyatt pulled the car keys from the ignition and weighed them in his hand. "I know you think you're ready to come back, but –"

"Wyatt, I had all this from Mom and Dad. I really don't need it from you too."

"I just think you need to be prepared, is all," Wyatt persisted. "Everyone knows you were there when – when the accident happened. People are going to ask questions."

"Can't tell them what I don't remember," Chris muttered, rubbing at his forehead. It was beginning to ache from the anticipation he was trying to pretend he didn't feel.

"Won't stop them from asking. Over and over and over – _trust_ me."

"I know what to expect Wy, I'm not an idiot. Are you done?"

"Fine, I give up." Wyatt pocketed the keys and reached for his own bags. "Do what you want – you usually do." He climbed out of the car and Chris followed suit. "Just call me _immediately _if you start to feel strange or run into any trouble. And be back here by 3.30, yeah? I've got plans this evening and you're not making me late."

"Sure thing, Mom."

Wyatt made a sound of exasperation. "Maybe you want to grow up while you're at it. Mom and Dad are taking a chance here and trusting you to –"

Chris didn't dignify that with a response, slamming the car door shut and strolling towards the school with as much nonchalance as he could muster. As soon as Wyatt had headed off in his own direction, Chris let the façade slip and sagged back against a neighbouring building, mind whirling.

Mom and Dad had quietly sat him down the previous evening and explained that the Elders couldn't take his electrokinesis power away. As certain as he'd been about his decision to give up the lightning, as frightened as it made him feel to know what he could do with it, a part of him had been relieved by the news.

That relief had turned sour when his parents had explained their plan to have Wyatt train him. Captain Popular was riding to the rescue once again, with his impenetrable barrier shield and perfect magical control, ready to single-handedly save the world from his wayward little brother's powers. In a more generous moment, Chris might admit that it was a half-way good idea and was probably his best bet for getting a handle on his electrokinesis, but that didn't mean he had to look forward to their training sessions or approach the whole thing with anything resembling good grace.

He flexed his fingers and then balled his hands into fists. The part of the plan he disliked even more than Wyatt being his teacher, was having his powers bound every time he was outside one of these sessions, but his parents had been adamant. New powers were temperamental, they said, and with everything that had happened lately, their family didn't need any more attention from the outside world. If Chris happened to lose control somewhere out in public, somewhere with lots of people around… He hadn't needed convincing on that front; it was being completely powerless that he'd objected to. Being mortal. Magic came as naturally to Halliwells as breathing and to have that ripped away – even for his own protection – had been brutal. How Dad had done it, after being a magical being for over 60 years… their eyes had met and for the first time, Chris had felt like they had something in common.

The only vague upshot of losing his powers was that he'd been able to get them to agree to let him go back to school that week, as planned. He was all healed up, he'd argued, and with his ability to throw lightning bolts around taken away, there was no reason to keep him at home anymore. Mom had been the most resistant, insisting he wasn't ready, that he wouldn't be able to cope with all the associations there'd be with the accident – all the stuff Wyatt had just hinted at – but Chris had been resolute. He needed to have something normal in his life and, come what may, school would be it. How his life had devolved to the point of him basically begging to go back to school was something of a mystery, but he'd gotten his wish and here he was, about to step into the belly of the beast. Staring up at the familiar red brick building he began to wonder if his family had all been right.

"Chris!"

Having someone shout your name isn't ideal when you're trying to avoid attracting attention, but then, really, what did he expect from Emily? The brunette strode towards him, weaving between the parked cars, Devon a step behind. She stopped a few feet away and surveyed him critically. "You look like crap."

"Way to say "hello", Em," Devon pulled Chris into a back-slapping hug. "How you doing, man?" He stiffened and released Chris. "Shit, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Nah, I'm good." Chris adjusted the weight of his bag. "All healed."

"That was quick."

Chris shrugged. "I'm a healthy, growing boy."

"You're a string-bean," Emily told him with a sniff.

Chris ignored her. "So, did I miss anything exciting while I was lying around in a hospital bed?"

They exchanged glances. "Mrs Meadows had her baby –" Devon said. Mrs Meadows was one of their science teachers.

"It was a boy," Emily put in. "There was some half-assed collection thing that Missy Andrews organised and Devon forced me to give money."

"– And without you, old man Perkins had to find someone else to pick on."

"He tried me." Emily grinned evilly. "He didn't like it."

They laughed and then lapsed into silence. Chris adjusted the weight of his bag, conscious of the way they were watching him. "Just ask," he ordered finally.

Devon coughed, looking faintly embarrassed. "Ask what?"

"Ask me about what happened. It's like this freaking huge elephant in the room, so just get it over with so you can both stop acting so weird."

"Alright then, what happened?" Emily said in her typical blunt fashion.

Chris took a deep breath. He'd thought about how he was going to answer this for a long time last night. "Honestly? Not sure. I don't remember much." Emily looked disappointed and even Devon was frowning. That wasn't going to cut it. Fine. "I got beaten up and stabbed by Warren and then there was an explosion from the chemistry lab. They died, I didn't. End of."

He probably sounded callous, but Emily didn't flinch. "That's what we heard. You really don't remember?"

_A flash of blue and white. Warren's face, twisted in fear and pain. The sickly smell of burning flesh – _

"Nope."

"Probably best," she said. "Bastards got what they deserved."

Devon narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything. Chris got the impression this wasn't the first time they'd argued about this.

"They've been offering counselling," Devon ventured after a pause, "for the students. So people can… I dunno. Understand what happened maybe."

"Have you seen them?" Chris asked.

"You joking?" Emily snorted. "Pretty clear to me what happened."

He looked at Devon, who shook his head. "Mom's a psychiatrist, remember – I get enough of that at home, but… Chris, maybe you should."

Chris went cold. "I'm not talking about this with a stranger."

"But it could –"

Chris made a show of looking at his watch. "As much as I hate to say this, if we don't haul ass we're going to be late. Being as it's my first day back and all I'd like to hold off on getting detention."

They could have argued and pressed him to talk about what had happened. Maybe they should have. But they were his friends – his best friends – and so they let it go and allowed him to change the subject.

"You could play the invalid card," Emily mused as they began walking towards the school. "Bet they'd cut you some slack then."

"Tempting."

"You do look a bit rough, man."

"Don't you start too."

"Aren't you glad to be back?"

* * *

><p>He'd been okay outside, with Emily and Devon. But inside the halls and his classes, surrounded by curious eyes and pointed whispers, everything Wyatt and his parents had warned him about came rushing to the surface. Chris gritted his teeth and bore it out as best he could, keeping his head down and hurrying from one class to another as quickly as possible. Those that did try to talk to him got terse responses and dark looks. It didn't stop them asking.<p>

The last period before lunch was American Lit, which was at the end of the languages department, up on the second floor. Side-stepping a pair of gaping freshman, Chris ducked inside the room and slipped into his seat at the back with a mental sigh of relief. Another gauntlet run. Only half a day to go now.

That relief was short-lived. When he'd left the class two weeks ago, they'd been studying _For Whom The Bell Tolls_ by Hemingway. Now it was _The Grapes of Wrath _by Steinbeck and Chris soon found himself floundering. He tried to muster some enthusiasm for Steinbeck's words, but Miss Dacjev's droning was enough to put him to sleep. He'd fought his parents to come back for this?

Bored and frustrated, Chris's attention was soon wandering. One of the only saving graces of this class was that his seat was by the window, giving him a pretty good view out across the playing fields and onto the woods beyond. A group of students were warming up down on the track and as Chris watched as they began running laps. Round and round and round like hamsters on a wheel. He had that to look forward to later in the week. Great. Maybe playing that invalid card Devon had mentioned wasn't such a stupid idea.

Partially obscuring the end of the track was the looming block of the science labs. And there, on one side, the blackened site of the explosion. Even from the second floor, Chris could see the damage. The school had tried to conceal it, but boarding up windows and cordoning off the area behind barriers was like using a band-aid on a broken leg.

So that was where he'd been attacked. Where Warren Trent had drawn a knife and driven it into his stomach. All of Chris's morning classes had been over on the other side of the school, so this was the first time he'd seen the science buildings since the attack and he drank it all in with a kind of morbid fascination.

_I almost died there_.

When the bell rang for lunch, he rose slowly and slipped his books into his bag, letting the rest of the students spill out of the classroom before him. Emily and Devon would be waiting for him by the lunchroom. He should go and meet them.

He let his feet carry him down the central staircase, passed the turn off to the lunchroom, and out of a side door. A few minutes later he was standing in front of a row of barriers that encircled the science block.

Swinging himself over the nearest barrier, he came to an unsteady halt on the other side. It was one thing to see the destruction from a distance and quite another to be standing a few feet away. With the scorched paving slabs and walls, shards of glass overlooked by the clean-up crew and twisted tree stumps, it looked like a scene from one of those post-apocalyptic movies that Emily loved so much.

_I almost died here_.

A flash of colour caught his eye, brilliant against the grey buildings. There was a memorial at the base of one of the walls, a sea of bouquets in various stages of wilting, cards and keepsakes. Chris couldn't help crouching down and reading some of the messages. The outpourings of love and regret felt somehow alien to him. Maybe it was wrong, but he couldn't be sad about Warren, Jake and Austin. He regretted their deaths, but he couldn't be sad. Reading the messages made him feel like a hypocrite and he quickly moved away.

He'd barely taken five steps when the flashback hit him like a gym-obsessed linebacker. It was earlier than any of the other memories, taking him back to the point when the assault was just starting. Warren was leering down at him, shouting words he couldn't make out while Jake and Austin laughing sycophantically in the background. Then the blows began to fall, each one striking as if they were real, forcing the air out of Chris's lungs, and almost bringing him to his knees.

Blood filled his mouth, thick and syrupy, and he swallowed reflexively, gagging as it clogged up his airway. Terror rattled through him. A blow caught him at the wrong angle, snapping his head back and he almost fell. Then the knife was out, glinting in the moonlight, and Warren was pressing it against his cheek before drawing his arm back. Chris lunged forward to try and get out of the way and the knife slid eagerly into his chest –

Oh God, it hurt, it hurt worse than anything else, worse than all of the blows he'd suffered combined. _I'm going to die_, he thought blearily. _I'm going to die here – no_! Chris lunged forward and shoved Warren back against the wall, grabbing his wrist and twisting it backwards to force him to drop the knife. He groped for his power, demanding the lightning spring to his defence and blast Warren Trent into oblivion –

A flash of real pain across his face dragged Chris back into the present and as his vision cleared he found a pair of dark, female eyes watching him warily. "You might want to let me go now," the girl suggested.

Chris released her instantly. "Shit." He backed up and banged into one of the buildings. "Shit, shit, _shit_."

"Yeah, that about sums it all up."

He could have killed her. If his magic hadn't been bound, she would have gone the way of the demons in the attic. A girl he didn't even know and she'd have been dead, at his hand. Already unbalanced by the intensity of the flashback, Chris wheeled around and punched the wall as hard as he could. Blood splattered onto the ground as he braced his arms against the wall, let his head drop between them, and let out a strangled cry of anger, frustration and fear.

"Are you done?"

Chris raised his head slowly, the last vestiges of his emotions slipping away. He felt exhausted now, like he'd run a marathon or something. As he got his first good look at the girl whose slap had saved her life, he realised she was older than he'd first thought – Wyatt's age, if not a bit more – and pretty. _Really_ pretty, with long brown hair, copper-coloured skin and dark, dark eyes that he couldn't quite read. She didn't seem scared of him as much as mildly irritated. Did she know who he was? His connection to this place?

"I'm sorry," he muttered, even though it was completely inadequate. He pushed away from the wall and turned to face her properly. "I don't know what… er, did I hurt you?"

She flexed her wrist. "I'll live. Will you?" She nodded at his right hand, where the knuckles were still bleeding slightly. Chris hid it behind his back, both because of the blood and to hide the fact that his hands were both shaking. "It's nothing."

"Sure seemed like something." She wasn't just talking about his knuckles.

"Just letting off some steam."

"Really." Her scepticism was clear. "Strange place to do it. I'd have gone for the bathroom myself. Oh, unless you're mourning of course. But I don't think you are, are you?"

"Are _you_?" Chris countered, stung by her attitude.

The girl tucked her hands into the pockets of your black leather jacket. "I'm satisfying my curiosity."

"That's a no, then."

"It's strange, don't you think?" she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "How all the damage from the explosion was to the outside of the buildings. And this pattern on the ground…" She walked the winding length of one of the scorch marks, moving away from the chemistry lab and its boarded up windows. Chris knew he should take the opportunity to leave, get as far away from other people as possible until he'd straightened his head out, but there was something about this girl. He found himself trailing after her instead. "Here." She tapped the ground with one booted foot. "Here's where it began. Right in the middle of nowhere."

She was right, he realised slowly. They were standing on clear patch of unmarked ground, a good fifteen metres or so away from the chemistry lab.

"Wonder how the cops explained this one in their report."

Intrigued despite himself, Chris bent down to get a closer look, pressing his fingertips gently against the concrete. _I stood here_, he thought. _Right here_. Even as the idea passed through his mind, he knew it was true. What did it mean?

"Probably the same way they explained an explosion powerful enough to burn concrete," she concluded.

"It was chemicals," he murmured automatically. "Chemicals and a cigarette."

"From all the way over here?" The girl raised one elegant eyebrow. "Not very likely."

No, it really wasn't. The more he thought about it, the more none of this was adding up. And it wasn't just the explosion itself, or the reaction of the cops or the burn marks. He'd _seen Warren die_, the flashbacks had proved that. Which meant they'd been together when the explosion had hit. Which meant they'd been here, at the centre of the storm, too far away from the classrooms for the chemical-cigarette theory to hold up.

It raised the inevitable question: if the explosion hadn't come from the chemistry lab as suspected, then where the hell had it come from? And why hadn't it killed him like it had Warren, Jake and Austin?

He didn't realise he'd voiced that thought aloud until the girl remarked, "It's a mystery, alright. Luck can only go so far. You must have had angels on your shoulder."

Chris barely heard her. He had to have orbed; it was the only explanation. He'd been scared, in pain, bleeding, and he'd reacted instinctively, taking the most immediate escape route. Yes, that made sense only – only Wyatt had found him here, at the school, hadn't he? If he _had_ orbed, it would have been to somewhere safe, not straight back to the scene of the attack. Just what had happened here that day?

"An unexplainable explosion from nowhere… hmm, it's almost like magic."

Like magic. Chris grew very still. A blue flash. Lightning dancing. No, it couldn't be… could it? He gave himself a mental shake. No, of course it couldn't. That was just has usual fatalistic thinking rearing its ugly head again.

"Well I guess my curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied for now." The girl stretched out her arms and flexed them, then twisted her neck from one side to the other with a wince. "It's been fun, Halliwell. We'll have to do it again sometime. Preferably without the flashback trauma."

Her words jerked Chris out of his reverie and he rose to his feet, knuckles scraping painfully against the ground. "I already apologised for that –"

"You did, didn't you?" She tucked a long length of brown hair behind her ear. "I suppose I should forgive you then." Waggling her fingers at him, she sauntered away.

"Hey," Chris called after her, "what's your name?"

"Bianca," she tossed back over her shoulder, before adding, "You know, if it was me… I'd want to know for sure."

He watched her walk away, those parting words ringing in his ears. _If it was me… I'd want to know for sure._ She was right. And she was right about everything else too. There was so much of this that didn't add up and the further Chris dug, the more unconvincing it became. The nonsensical explosion, his lack of injuries, the flashbacks… it all added up to something that floated just out of reach. It was like when you were sitting a test and had all the right answers in there somewhere, but just couldn't pull them out.

_Blue light scorched his eyes, burning his skin, as the sounds of screaming reached his ears – _

Chris winced and closed his eyes briefly. The flashbacks were getting stronger, more intense. His terrifying reaction earlier had crystallised things and shown that he didn't need a bolt of lightning to hurt someone. Powers or no powers – what if he couldn't stop himself next time the past decided to commandeer his brain? No, it couldn't happen again, not ever. If for no other reason than that, he needed to put this to bed. Now.

_If it were me… I'd want to know for sure_.

_Yeah_, Chris thought, looking down at his blood-stained knuckles. _You and me both_.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Wyatt

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter – it was a tricky one to write and I've also been a bit ill lately. Still, on the mend now and the next chapter has already been written so I can promise there won't be a wait for that ;) Quick warning: there is some strong swearing in this chapter, so please look away now if that's going to offend you. I try not to overuse swear words, but I also want to write realistically and there are just some circumstances where using a weaker word wouldn't sound right.

As always, big thanks to everyone who has supported this story so far and I hope you continue to enjoy it!

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Fourteen – Wyatt<span>**

Wyatt watched his brother closely, trying to read anything in Chris's face, but unlike him, his brother was adept at hiding his emotions. If he was nervous or worried, Wyatt couldn't tell.

It was their very first training session and they were in a magically protected room at Magic School, sitting cross-legged on a faded rug. All of the other furniture had been removed at their dad's request, which Chris had no doubt noticed, but there was no getting around the fact that this was likely to be a messy and destructive process. His parents shelled out enough money to refurbish the manor after demon attacks as it was; they didn't need to have to do the same at Magic School.

Wyatt cleared his throat, drawing his brother's attention. "You ready?"

"Ready and raring to go, Professor. Unbind me."

It wasn't quite the answer or tone that Wyatt had been looking for, thought it wasn't unexpected. He sighed inwardly, already able to predict how this session was going to go. "Are you _really_ ready?" he pressed.

"Yes, Wyatt," Chris replied, speaking slowly as if he was talking to a child. "Now will you _please _unbind my powers so we can get this show on the road?"

Oh yeah, this was going to be a barrel of fun.

Wyatt pulled a creased piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. He'd memorised the words, practiced them over and over, but it never hurt to be careful. "Give me your hands." Chris complied with visible reluctance. He'd always bemoaned what he called the "touchy-feely" side of magic. "Right. Okay. Um… here goes. _Magic that binds will now unbind, Restore his powers in full and in kind_."

It wasn't a flashy spell, but it did the job and Chris pulled his hands free, shaking them vigorously. A moment later he orbed from one side of the room to the other and then back again, emerging from the glittering blue and white lights with a satisfied smirk on his face. "God, I've missed that."

"Come and sit down," Wyatt ordered impatiently.

Chris scowled, but obeyed with a minimum of fuss. Once he was seated again, Wyatt mentally reviewed how he'd decided to approach the training and then cleared his throat. "Right. Um, I thought the best approach would be for you to release your power at full blast and then work backwards from that until you've gained some control over it." When Chris didn't react, he added, "It's how I learned to use my combustion power safely, so I know the method works."

"Sounds _fascinating_."

Wyatt was normally fairly even-tempered, but Chris had a way of getting under his skin. "Chris, stop being a pain in the ass," he said sharply. "I'm trying to help you here."

His brother had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry," Chris muttered. "Reflex."

There were hundreds of things he could have said about that, but Wyatt let it go.

"Should I start now…?" his brother asked neutrally.

"Gimme a sec." Wyatt reached inside himself and commanded his power to come forth. The blue sphere of his force field emerged, expanding until it reached the place where Chris was sitting. Chris reached out and ran his hand over the smooth surface, as if it was the first time he'd ever seen it. "It's more for your peace of mind than anything else," Wyatt offered awkwardly, receiving a non-committal shrug in return. "Okay, hit me with everything you've got."

Nothing changed in Chris's expression but suddenly the blue and white lighting was there, snaking insidiously around his brother's fingers just as it had that night in the attic. Chris hissed in pain and the lightning responded, growing more aggressive and traveling up his wrists towards his chest. The muscles in his jaw clenched as he automatically tried to master the power and force it to obey him.

"Chris, hey, I know you want to control it, but you've got to let go first, remember? Just relax and let it flow out of you."

"I'm not taking a piss," Chris muttered, but he obviously tried to follow Wyatt's instructions because the intensity of the lightning increased. Blue and white tendrils played up and down his arms, making the hairs stand on end and he was sweating, even though the room was on the cool side. It still wasn't enough, Wyatt thought regretfully. The level of magic Chris had shown in the attic had been off the scale and this was barely half way there. He didn't doubt that his little brother was trying, but Chris was also unconsciously struggling for control.

"Am I there yet?" Chris asked breathlessly, face white with strain.

Wyatt shook his head. "You're still fighting it. You have to –"

"Relax, I know. Kinda hard when there's a million volts running through me and –" The lightning's power increased again and he bit down hard on his lip. "Shit, this is – I'd forgotten how this… Wy, I've got to stop."

Wyatt rose up onto his knees. "What's wrong?"

"It hurts," Chris confessed shakily. "It really fucking hurts – like I'm on fire or something. This can't be – "

"Chris, listen to me. No, just listen to my voice. I know it's bad now, but we talked about this, yeah? You have to work _through _the pain. It'll be worth it, I promise. If you give up every time it gets a bit uncomfortable, we're never going to get anywhere."

"Screw you, Wy – you don't – you don't know what this feels like – !"

"You think it was all fun and games when I was learning to control a power that could level a city? It hurt, Chris, like your power's hurting now. But I got through it by accepting the pain and…"

"I'm not you!" Chris shouted, rising to his feet, lightning dancing around him like a halo. "I'm not Captain Perfect with his awesome magical powers, not a hair out of place, always riding to the rescue of damsels in distress. I'm a screwed-up, neurotic, little freak with a bad attitude who can't control his magic and _I can't do this_ – agh!"

Chris doubled-over, clutching at his stomach. Training plans forgotten, Wyatt jumped up and ran to his brother's side, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Chris –"

"_No_!" Chris flinched away from him, falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around himself. "Don't – don't touch me. I don't want to – just don't touch me." He was breathing hard now, like he'd run a marathon, and trembling all over. Wyatt felt a great pressure building in the air and that was all the warning he got before a bolt of lightning streaked out of his brother and smashed against his shield. The force of the impact actually drove Wyatt back a few steps and he had to focus hard on maintaining his shield as a second one followed on the heels of the first. This one was weaker and Wyatt wasn't surprised when the third spluttered out before it even reached him.

The lightning died a few moments later, leaving his brother shaking and pale-faced, looking like he was going to vomit.

"Chris…" Wyatt ventured after a silence filled with nothing but heavy breathing. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah."

"I know it's rough, but that was a good start. Ready to try again?"

"No."

Wyatt settled back down onto the rug. "Alright, we can wait a few minutes."

"No, I meant – not today." Chris stood up slowly, like an old man, and wavered a little before he could stand up straight. "I'm done."

"Chris, c'mon, you can't just give up now, we're just starting to make some progress –!"

"_I'm done_," Chris repeated forcefully.

He made his way carefully towards the door. Wyatt opened his mouth to call him back and then thought better of it. Chris had obviously made up his mind and when that happened, it was next to impossible to sway him. Besides, he might be right; it might be better to come back to this next session when hopefully Chris would be in more of a receptive mood. They had made _some_ progress, after all, even if it wasn't as much as Wyatt would have liked.

Chris opened the door and was about to leave when Wyatt remembered something. "Chris, wait a sec." His brother turned back reluctantly, braced for an argument. "I have to bind your powers again," Wyatt explained apologetically.

Chris gritted his teeth, but held his hands out without comment and waited impatiently as Wyatt rattled through the binding spell. As soon as the last word had passed his brother's lips, Chris was gone.

* * *

><p>Chris was late to their second session. Wyatt sat patiently for the first five minutes, a little less patiently for the second five, and was on the verge of hunting him down when the door swung open.<p>

"Sorry," Chris muttered, not sounding particularly sorry. He closed the door a bit too forcefully and then dropped down onto the rug. "Mel cornered me."

Wyatt raised an eyebrow. "What did she want?"

"Started harping on about the attack. _What did I remember_. Exploding into a giant ball of lightning wasn't good enough, apparently."

Wyatt stared at him, aghast. What was Mel _thinking_, asking Chris about the attack? Didn't she understand how serious all this was? Sure, she was only a kid, but she wasn't an idiot – and he'd _told _her not to say anything, she'd promised –

"Look, Chris, whatever Mel said, whatever she told you it wasn't – it was an accident, you have to understand that. No one was –"

"What, those demons just _accidently_ found themselves in the attic?" Chris gave him a funny look. "Yeah, okay, weirdo."

Demons. In the attic. The attack. When Wyatt finally realized what his brother was talking about, a chill ran through him and he cursed his own stupidity. All this time they'd been fighting to protect Chris from the truth of what had happened and Wyatt had almost blurted it out!

_Get a grip_, he told himself forcefully, _and concentrate_. _Chris needs you to help him. He does not need you to start running your mouth off._

Chris was beginning to frown, so Wyatt quickly held out his hands. "We should get started."

Power unbinding complete, Wyatt launched into his prepared speech about how he wanted to try the same technique as before and that he was sure Chris would be more successful this time, now that he knew what to expect. Privately Wyatt wasn't sure about that – he was beginning to worry that Chris was too much of a control-freak to ever really let go – but he wanted his brother to prove him wrong.

"It's going to hurt, you know that," Wyatt concluded. "Are you ready for it this time?"

"I was ready for it _last_ time," Chris grumbled, pulling himself up onto his knees and then sitting back so that he was comfortable. "Doesn't mean it hurts any less."

"Chris…"

"Fine, fine, I'll do it. But I wasn't messing around – it feels like I'm literally burning alive, so don't blame me if I start screaming like a little girl." Chris gritted his teeth and the lightning began forming around his fingertips.

As Wyatt watched his brother's powers grow, he wondered if Chris knew how much Wyatt could empathise with him right now. Probably not. Chris was kinda self-absorbed and anyway, when Wyatt had been going through this process with his combustion power, his brother had just reached puberty and his world had revolved around Chris, Chris, acne, tantrums and Chris.

What had Chris called him in their first session? Captain Perfect? If only. There was an infamous room down the corridor where the door wouldn't open, not by normal means and not by magic. It had developed a bit of a reputation in Magic School and students were constantly striving to be the one to break through and find out what was on the other side. Truth is, whoever finally did it would be disappointed because there was nothing to see. The room had been literally blow away by an out-of-control power. It was one of the main reasons there was a protective barrier around the room they were sitting in now. Magic School had learned from their mistakes.

"Shit me," Chris gasped out as the lightning rippled along his arms. It was quickly reaching the same level as in their last lesson. "Will it always hurt like this?"

"I don't know," Wyatt admitted. "I hope not. With me, it was hurting because I was, I guess, trying to fight or reject it or something. Once I'd accepted it then it became like just any other power. I'm sure it'll be the same for you."

"Pretty much feels like – like it's this bastard that's doing all the fighting," Chris managed. He was growing pale again. "I don't want him to win."

"Yes, yes, you do," Wyatt urged, sitting forward. "That's the whole point! I know it goes against everything in your nature, but if there was one time to walk away from a fight then this is it, Chris."

"I don't walk away," his brother growled, glaring at Wyatt. "I _never_ walk away! Walking away is –"

" – sometimes the right thing to do. You can't always play the hero, Chris."

Chris laughed angrily. "Why not? _You _do. Why do the rest of us have to be weak?"

They weren't talking about the electrokinesis anymore, that was for sure. Wyatt wanted to press the matter – this whole mess about being a hero or perfect or whatever else Chris was thinking – but now really wasn't the time. He tried to get the conversation back on track instead. "It's not about weakness; it's about doing what's needed to allow you to control your magic. So if not fighting is what's needed, then don't fight!"

"Stop telling me what to do!"

"I'm your teacher – I'm supposed to tell you what to do," Wyatt pointed out. A bolt of lightning flashed out and struck the shield, inches from his face. The barrage that followed were all aimed at his head too, making it crystal clear what Chris was thinking, and they were strong, way stronger than the one's he'd fired off by accident in the last session. Apparently the distraction of the argument had been just the thing Chris needed to relax the inbuilt need he had to control everything.

"Yeah, well, be nice if you actually _taught_ me something," Chris shot back, face creasing with pain. He braced his hands on his knees and struggled upright. "This 'losing control' thing is bullshit."

_Really? _Wyatt thought, watching the miniature lightning storm brewing around his brother. It still wouldn't match the one he'd conjured in the attic that day, but they were getting closer and Wyatt felt a rush of relief. It was finally working! Now he just had to keep up the pressure.

"You want Mom to teach you? Or Dad? How about a stuffy Elder in a stuffy robe? Be my guest."

"Can't be any worse than you!"

"Fine. Ask them then."

"I will!"

"Only, Dad's mortal, Mom's never had to handle a power like this and the Elders won't help, will they? Guess I'm your only option after all."

Chris let out a cry that was part frustration and part pain, and Wyatt felt his resolve weakening. "Chris… you know, I'm just trying to help you, right? Contrary to what you might think, seeing you in pain is not my idea of fun."

Their eyes met and Wyatt could see he'd startled his brother. Chris offered him a shaky smile. "Not my idea of fun either –" He sucked in a breath. "Ugh, I think I'm gonna pass out." His arms went limp and he fell forward, just catching himself before he hit the ground. "Can't hold it."

The lightning died a moment later, but Chris remained where he was for far longer, head bowed, hiding behind a curtain of messy hair as his sides heaved. Wyatt waited for him to regain his composure.

"Okay?" he asked finally when Chris's breathing had slowed. His brother nodded, sweeping his dark hair back. "Peachy."

"That was a lot better than last time."

"Painfuller too." He paused and then raised his head. "Not gonna tell me to try again?"

Wyatt wanted to, but Chris was clearly exhausted. "I think we've done enough." He hesitated and then decided to take the plunge. "Chris, about what you said… I'm not perfect. And I'm not a hero. I'm just a guy, like you, so I don't know why you think –"

"Oh yeah, we've definitely done enough." Chris rose carefully, not looking at him. "Laters, Mary Sue."

Wyatt sat back on his heels, but made no attempt to follow him. It wasn't worth it and besides, there'd be time to iron out whatever crazy thoughts were running through his brother's mind later.

* * *

><p>It was a week later when the shit truly hit the proverbial fan.<p>

Chris was quiet when he arrived in the training room that afternoon, but not in an I'm-sulking-and-I-want-the-whole-world-to-know-it kind of way; it was more of an intense quiet, as if he had something on his mind. He didn't sit down right away, just leaned against the closed door as Wyatt dropped a couple of cushions onto the ground.

"What did you think Mel had told me about?" his brother asked out of the blue.

"Huh?"

"Last week. You thought Mel had told me something – pretty much had a full blown freak-out over it. I wanna know why."

_Shit_. "I… I thought she might have said your electrokinesis scared her. And then you'd feel guilty so…" He crouched down, repositioning his cushion and playing for time. "You joining me?"

There was a long pause. Heart in mouth, Wyatt settled onto his cushion and waited. Chris remained by the door. This silent game of wills carried on for a while until Chris stalked into the middle of the room and held out his hands. Wyatt unbound his powers quickly, but rather than sitting down, his brother wandered across to the window. Seeing as how Magic School existed outside of normal reality, the sunlight spilling through the frosted pane was an illusion, but Chris still turned his face up to it, eyes closing momentarily.

"If I asked you a question, would you promise to tell me the truth?"

Chris had never said anything like that to him before and if Wyatt had already been on guard, this set alarm bells ringing. Could he? His first instinct was to say "yes, of course he could" – Chris was his brother and that's what family did for each other. But… but didn't it depend on the question? Wyatt had a horrible feeling he knew what it was going to be.

"Depends on the question," he admitted finally.

Chris snorted. "Figures. Let me guess, anything to do with the explosion is off limits, huh?"

The horrible feeling deepened. When Chris had first started showing signs of remembering what had happened that night, Wyatt had shared his concerns with his parents. His mom had been worried, but his dad had gently pointed out there was nothing they could do to prevent it. Then Mom had mentioned altering Chris's memory to protect him and it had all gone downhill from there. Wyatt wasn't sure what the conclusion had been and now here he was again, confronted by the same problem of a brother who was beginning to see through the cracks in their deception.

"I just came from school. The security tapes from the cameras on the science lab roof are totally blank on the evening of the explosion. Weird, huh?"

"It's a Saturday…" Wyatt's eyes widened. "You broke into the school?"

"_That's _what you think is important in this story?" Chris laughed bitterly. "Typical. Hey, you know what else is weird? I went down the precinct and asked them if I could see the file they had on the attack." Chris pushed away from the window and turned around, arms folded across his chest. "They didn't know who I was. Didn't even know what I was talking about. An explosion that destroyed part of the school and killed three kids, and somehow they've completely wiped it from their minds."

Chris had had the foresight to check the security tapes _and_ go to the cops? Wyatt scrambled to his feet, feeling the situation slipping through his fingers.

"So I asked Mom about it and she gave me a load of crap about overworked cops and security guys making mistakes. Dad pretty much parroted the same thing, like they were reading from a script or something. I even asked Mel and you know how she gets when she's lying? All red and shouty before she finds a reason to run away? Yeah apparently Billie _really_ needed her help with some demon hunting." His voice dropped suddenly. "She couldn't even look at me. Why… What do you know?" he demanded, turning on Wyatt. "What do you all know that I don't? What really happened that night?"

Wyatt opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He couldn't do this. He didn't want to lie anymore and anything he said would be just that, a lie. But telling the truth of all this, telling Chris what he'd done… how could he do that either?

"What is it?" Chris asked intently, moving closer. "What were you talking about last week, 'cause it sure as hell wasn't Melinda being afraid of me. _Tell me_!"

Lightning sprung into life around his fingers, but he didn't appear to notice. Wyatt scrambled to his feet, his forcefield responding to the flash of fear that rippled through him by springing to life. Through the shimmering barrier, Wyatt saw Chris falter. "What, _you're_ afraid of me now too –?"

"Chris," Wyatt interrupted urgently, "your hands."

His brother's fingers couldn't be seen anymore; they were concealed by a mass of undulating lightning bolts. The electrokinesis had manifested more quickly than Wyatt had ever seen before, maybe even faster than it had in the attic. And the strength – Wyatt could feel a change in the air pressure and the skin on the back of his neck began to tingle.

"I thought you wanted me to let go, let it take control," Chris mocked, green eyes dancing with blue and white highlights.

"Not like this –"

"Make up your mind, Wyatt!" A thin bolt of lightning shot out and burned a hole in the wooden floorboards at his feet. A second, third and then forth hit Wyatt's shield before ricocheting upwards. Numbers five and six quickly followed. Chris was right, he was losing control like Wyatt had wanted, but there was something desperate in his brother right now. Desperate and dangerous, and his gut told Wyatt that if they pursued this any further, he wasn't going to like what happened next.

"I'm just doing what you asked. You should be _thrilled_."

Wyatt dodged another blast. "Stop it!"

"Then stop _lying to me_!" Chris yelled, his lightning becoming so bright Wyatt had to cover his eyes with his hands. "That's all anyone does recently and – and I'm _sick of it_!"

A barrage of bolts struck Wyatt's shield, forcing him back. He tripped and almost fell, just catching himself with one outstretched hand. "Chris –"

"What happened that night?"

"Chris, I –"

"_What happened_?"

"I can't!" Wyatt cried, voice cracking. "God, stop asking, _please_."

Something in his tone pulled Chris up short and the lightning dimmed a little. "What could be so bad…"

A peculiar stillness came over him then. Wyatt could just make out his brother's face through the ripple of his forcefield and where there had been such intensity only seconds before was complete blankness. "What did I do?" he whispered, taking a halting step forward. "What did I –"

Then he screamed, a dark, unearthly sound, and the room exploded.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Melinda

**A/N:** I was tempted to call this chapter 'Mel and Billie's Excellent Adventure' ;) Interesting fact: Melinda's swiftly becoming my favourite character perspective to write from, so this chapter was a breeze. Hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

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><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen: Melinda<strong>

"That one?"

"Um… no."

"_That_ one?"

"Nope."

"Ooh, what about him?"

"Nuh, uh. He didn't have horns, he was just more…"

"Slimy? Sticky? Smelly?"

"… Ugly."

Billie laughed. "I think that's pretty much a given for all of them in the Book, Mels."

Melinda felt her cheeks grow hot. "Oh, yeah, didn't think of that."

" 'Cept him." Billie stabbed a finger at the opposite page. "He's pretty yummy."

"But he's a demon!"

"Eh, we've all been there – even your Mom."

Melinda wrinkled her nose. "Mom dated a demon?"

"Well I don't think she _knew_ he was a demon…"

Mom had dated a demon. Melinda wasn't sure how she felt about that. It just seemed… wrong somehow. Did Dad know?

"C'mon, Mels, you gotta give me more to go on," Billie complained, flicking aimlessly through the Book of Shadows. "Let's recap. He could conjure white fire, right?"

"Through his hands," Melinda agreed. "And he was wearing some kind of overcoat."

"Not sure his clothing choice will help narrow this down much…"

Melinda tried to think back, but it was tricky. Her memories were warped by fear and she'd been so busy trying to escape from the demons that she hadn't paid much attention to what they looked like. Big, ugly and scary wasn't going to be enough.

"What did Chris say?"

Melinda snorted.

"That helpful, huh?"

"He said something about exploding into a giant ball of lightning and then stomped off." Melinda scowled. "Why does he have to be such a pain all the time?"

"It's called being an older brother. No one knows how to wind you up better than a sibling. Me and Cristi…" Billie smiled, but she looked sad. "All brothers and sisters are the same."

Cristi. Melinda had heard that name before, but not very often. Billie didn't talk about her sister much and Melinda was a bit hazy on the details, but she knew Cristi had died a long time ago.

"What was Cristi like?" she asked impulsively.

Billie played with the edge of the Book. "Funny. And smart. I wish – I wish I'd had more time with her, but I know she loved me." She nudged Melinda. "Like Chris loves you, not that he'll ever show it 'cause he's a smelly boy."

"Wish _I_ had a sister…"

"You've got better than a sister – you've got me!" Billie offered her a grin and Melinda brightened. "Now back to it, Mels Bels – we have demon to hunt. Any more brilliant thoughts come into that brain of yours?"

"Urm…" Mel wracked her brains and finally something useful popped out. "White hair."

"What's that?"

"He had a strip of white in his hair –"

"Like a skunk, great!" Billie began turning the pages with more enthusiasm. "So we've got an ugly demon with white in his hair, white fire – bit of a white theme going on here, huh? – and an overcoat. Let's see…" Pages flicked passed, faster and faster until Melinda could barely see them. "Ah ha! This the guy?"

Melinda stood on her tiptoes and peeked over Billie's shoulder. A familiar face leered back at her and she shivered. "Yeah."

"Okay, _now_ we're getting somewhere." Billie ran her fingers down the page. "So they're called Swarmer demons. Low-level by the looks of it… travel in packs, hire their services out to the highest bidder… hmm, nothing's really screaming brave-enough-to-attack-a-house-full-of-Halliwells. _Stupid-enough_ maybe. Or – didn't you say there were loads of them? Was it a strength in numbers kind of thing…?"

"I guess…" Melinda reached the bottom of the page. "Is that a vanquishing spell?"

"Yep. Looks easy enough." Billie copied the words onto a scrap of paper and then tucked it into the pocket of her jeans. She crossed to the table, picked up the waiting scrying crystal and held it over the map. "Just got to find 'em now – ah _ha_! Looks like they're hanging out… downtown. Not in the Underworld – well, that makes a change." Billie studied the map for a few moments and then straightened. "Right, time to head out."

"Downtown?"

Billie pocketed a couple of the potions she'd made up earlier; ones that allowed her to teleport. "Yep, I'm downtown-bound. I'll let you know what I find out."

"Wait." Melinda caught her arm. "I want to come."

Billie laughed and gently loosened her grip. "Good one, Mels. See you later."

"I'm serious!"

"Mels, c'mon, I'm not taking an eleven-year old on a demon hunt."

"I'm almost twelve!" Melinda protested.

"Kinda beside the point," Billie said drily. "Anyway, your mom would _kill_ me. I've made Piper angry before and trust me," she mock-shuddered, "– not a pretty sight."

"If you don't let me come... I'll - I'll just follow," Melinda said in a rush. "You can't stop me from orbing!"

Billie's good humour faded. "You can be kind of a brat, you know that? Mels, this isn't a game. Hunting down demons is dangerous."

"I'm not stupid!"

"Yeah? Well you're acting like it right now. What's this all about?"

Melinda couldn't put into words why she had to go with Billie, but she knew she did. She'd never felt so strongly about something before. How could she make Billie understand?

"Unless you can give me a good enough reason, you're staying right here," the older witch said firmly.

"I… I have to do something!" she burst out incoherently. "I want to help, to – to fix this and make everything go back to normal."

Billie's expression softened. "Oh, Mels, I know you do sweetie, but this isn't the way –"

"Yes, it is," Melinda insisted, words tumbling out of her. "You all treat me like I'm this – this normal kid, but I'm not. I'm not a normal kid – I'm a witch and a Halliwell and that means I've _never _been a normal kid. I see things and I hear things and it all gets tangled up inside sometimes because I don't really understand, but – but I know Chris is hurting and Mom and Dad are fighting and Wyatt's worrying and if I can do even the smallest thing to fix that then I have to!"

She raised her head and stared at Billie defiantly, holding her breath. Billie closed her eyes momentarily and then let out a groan. "I'm going to regret this." She crouched down in front of Melinda, holding her firmly by the arms. "Alright, ground rules – and if you even _think_ about breaking one of these then you'll be back here so fast you'll get whiplash. Understand?" Melinda nodded solemnly. "Number one: you do what I say at all times, _without arguing_. Number two: you don't speak to anyone. In fact, don't even make eye contact. And number three: stay out of any fighting and the minute – the _minute _– anything dangerous comes near you, orb your butt back here. Don't try and fight; don't wait for me – orb. Got it?"

"Got it," Melinda promised quickly. "Can we go now?"

Billie looked like she wanted to say something else, but then she just sighed and muttered, "Yep, definitely regretting it."

* * *

><p>The back alley they orbed into was about as generic as you could get. There was even a dumpster there, black trash bags overflowing and garbage spilling across the ground. Melinda picked her way carefully through the deluge, following in Billie's footsteps. The older woman was moving cautiously, pausing every now and then to scan their surroundings. They rounded one corner, two, three and then Billie paused. "Wait here," she whispered and then slipped out of sight, obviously expecting Melinda to obey.<p>

Melinda did. Mostly. She shuffled forward slightly so she could peer around the corner and see what was happening. Billie had her back to Melinda and was casually approaching a pair of normal-looking guys who were having a cigarette. She twirled a lock of blonde hair around one finger and a giggly laugh floated back towards Melinda. Billie asked a question and the taller of the two men answered, but frustratingly Melinda couldn't hear what they were saying. She wondered if she dared to move closer.

Everything changed when a door about half-way down opened and three men with that distinctive white-striped hair spilled out. Billie didn't appear to notice them, but Melinda saw her widen her stance, readying for battle. They'd just reached the two men by Billie when she sprang into action, kicking out and sending two of them smashing into the side of the building on the right. The third one had to throw himself backwards to avoid being hit, but he recovered quickly and advanced on Billie, hands glowing with white fire, spewing the usual rubbish about enjoying killing her. Grinning, Billie sent him sailing down the alley with a flick of her wrist and Melinda suddenly realised why she'd gone for a physical attack in the beginning. By doing that she'd concealed her telekinesis, which had then given her an advantage against the third demon. They studied battle tactics in their final years at Magic School – it was one of Wyatt's classes right now. She wondered how he'd have marked Billie out of ten for that move.

The two demons Billie had kicked were up again, and she ducked and rolled as a pair of fireballs shot over her head. With another wave of her hand, she knocked them down again and then followed it up by rattling off the vanquishing spell and sending them packing.

The third demon had just managed to climb groggily to his feet when Billie pinned him there with her magic and strolled closer. Melinda stood on her tiptoes, where she could just about see his face. He looked terrified and she felt a rush of devilish satisfaction as Billie launched into their planned interrogation.

What they hadn't counted on were the two smoking men. Melinda had forgotten about them during the fight and she was startled to see they were still standing there once it had ended. Most people would have turned and run at the first sign of trouble. Mind you, most people didn't have nasty hook-shaped knives that they could draw from their belt and stab into your back when you weren't looking –

"Billie!" Melinda screamed as loudly as he could, following that up with, "Knife!"

The man – no, demon surely? – blinked at his empty hand and then whirled around, a snarl on his face and eyes burning a brilliant, unnatural orange. His partner followed suit and Melinda's instincts started shouting at her to run. Instead she sent the knife flying back towards them, catching its original owner high in the chest and pitching him over backwards. His companion ran at her, growling, only to be jerked suddenly up into the air before plummeting back to earth. The knife he'd been clutching clattered to the ground and came to a stop by Billie's boots.

Melinda began to shake and she clutched the wall for support. That had been too much like the attack in the attic, although at least she'd been able to _do_ something this time. Hands touched her shoulders and she jumped, trying to pull away.

"Mels, hey, it's okay. It's okay. They're gone." Billie's green eyes found hers and the older woman smiled encouraging. "You're safe now." She pulled Melinda into a tight hug and held her until the shaking stopped.

"That was one hell of a throw," Billie remarked once Melinda had regained her composure, juking a thumb back over her shoulder to the downed demon. "You nailed him."

"I did?"

"Yep. Where'd you learn how to do that?"

"Dunno." Melinda stared at the demon, trying to work out how she was feeling. Technically, this was her first solo vanquish. She should be happy, right?

"Well, any time you wanna save me from being skewered like that again, feel free. Although," she added sternly, "what did I say about running at the first sign of danger?" Melinda squirmed. "Relax, Mels, you did okay. Just, um, you might want to leave that bit out when you tell your mom about all this. On second thoughts, probably best to just not tell her anything at all."

_Definitely_, Melinda thought. _Mom's got enough on her mind right now._ She looked at the demon she'd vanquished again. _Me too_.

Beyond him and his friend, the alley was empty. "Your demon's gone," Melinda observed.

"Yeah, little sh – uh, nasty slimy horrible guy scampered when I was distracted by the knife guys here." Billie poked the one she'd disposed of with one booted foot. "Doesn't matter though – I got what we need."

"Really?

"Uh huh. Turns out it was a hire job, like I thought. Someone paid them to try and steal the Book of Shadows. And I know who."

* * *

><p>'Who' turned out to be a disreputable warlock called Celion the Dealbreaker. As his name suggested, he dealt in information and specialised in setting up deals between interested parties. Billie had said it was unlikely he'd ordered the attack himself, but he should know who had.<p>

Celion worked out of an office in a warehouse complex a couple of miles away. Melinda orbed them to a street across the road and once again fell into step behind Billie. This time though, she seemed to know where she was going, crossing a parking lot, climbing some metal steps and approaching a blue door. She yanked it open without knocking. The man behind the desk inside immediately tried to shimmer away, but she held him in place with her magic. "Celion, is that _really_ how you want to play this?"

"Billie! Uh, oh, no, I wasn't running, I was just…bathroom…" He coughed, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Er, would you like to sit down?"

"Much better. C'mon in, Mels. He won't bite."

Melinda stepped inside the office and gasped. From outside it had looked like a fairly standard office building, complete with desks and chairs and computers. Once she was through the door however, it became an Aladdin's cave, full of glittering objects, dusty tombs and dark corners. Lamps hung from the ceiling, giving the room a smoky glow, and a series of thick oriental rugs covered the floor.

Billie settled into one of the plush chairs and waved Melinda to the other. She sat quickly, eyes still drinking in her surroundings. You could happily get lost in this kind of place for hours.

"And who's your lovely lady friend?" Celion leered, leaning towards Melinda, who shrank back into the padded chair. With his crooked nose and patchy beard, he was an unpleasant-looking man.

"Piper Halliwell's youngest and _only_ daughter," Billie informed him cheerily and it was Celion's turn to recoil. "So hands off, if you know what's good for you."

"Yes, yes, of course… _big_ fan of your mother's," he told Melinda fervently. "_Huge_ fan. Your aunts too."

"Enough, Celion," Billie ordered, suddenly all business. "I want some information about a deal you made."

"Ah, ah, ah, you know better than that Billie. All of my clients sign a magically binding contract and in return, I guarantee them complete privacy. I'm sure you understand."

"Celion…" Billie leaned forward. "You owe me, remember?"

The warlock blanched, tugging at the neck of the ornate robe he was wearing. Melinda wondered what Billie was referring to and resolved to ask her later.

"Ah, yes, it – well, it had just slipped my mind, for a moment, there…"

"Tell you what, you give me the information and we'll call it quits – how's that sound?"

Celion brightened. "Now there's a deal I can do." He snapped his fingers and what looked like an ancient ring-binder appeared out of thin air and dropped onto the desk in front of it. "What can you tell me about the particulars of the deal?"

"A pack of Swarmer demons were hired to try and steal the Halliwell's Book of Shadows," Billie replied promptly. Celion pressed his hand against the ring-binder, repeated her words and then opened the folder to reveal a page covered with writing. Melinda shuffled closer in her chair but the handwriting was all cramped and squiggly and she couldn't read it.

"Here we are… yes, this is the one. Drawn up about a month ago." He ran his finger down the page and began to read aloud. "The Swarmer demons shall steal the Book of Shadows belonging to the Halliwell family, from the Halliwell manor, while all adults are absent. I'm paraphrasing, of course, but that's the gist of it."

Billie chewed that over. "The contract specifically says the Swarmers were to attack when the adults were out? How could they sure of that?"

Celion shrugged. "I can only tell you what's written here. But it's a fairly common clause."

Billie snorted. "I'll bet. Alright, who hired them then?"

The warlock consulted the page again, then went suspiciously quiet. "Celion?" Billie prompted impatiently, trying to see what he was looking at.

Celion slammed the folder shut. "Uh… perhaps there's something else you'd like to know. How about some deals to do with you –"

"There are deals to do with –" Billie shook herself. "No, that's not important right now. I want to know who hired the Swarmers."

Celion swallowed convulsively. "I can't tell you that."

"C'mon Celion, stop messing around. Just tell me this one little thing and we'll be square."

"I really can't tell you," Celion protested. "The contract –"

Growling, Billie snagged the ring-binder. "I'll just look it up myself – " She pulled up short. The pages were blank.

Celion looked the tiniest bit smug, although the expression faded when Billie glared at him. "It only responds to me," he explained. "No one else can read it."

Billie leaned across the table and grabbed the front of his robe, hauling Celion to his feet. "Ugh, then just tell me the damn name before a vanquish you!"

"It was a verbally binding contract!" the warlock babbled. "Verbally binding! I can't speak the name, not even to help such a lovely pair of ladies as yourselves."

"Verbally binding," Billie repeated. "You can do that?"

"If the client pays enough."

She sighed and let him go. He dropped back into his chair with an 'oomph'. "Great. Just great. Ooh, can you write it – No, let me guess, that breaks some other rule."

"I can never copy the details of a deal, that's just good business practice," Celion said piously.

"Could you draw it?" Melinda piped up. They both turned their eyes on her and she squirmed self-consciously.

"Draw?" Celion repeated as if it was the most stupid thing he'd ever heard. Billie was looking speculative and she waved for Melinda to continue. "I just mean… you could draw what they looked like. Whoever hired the Swarmers. Maybe they had, like, a big nose, or a tattoo or – or loads and loads of piercings…"

"Ridiculous," Celion sniffed, but Billie disagreed. "No, no, no… I think she's right. There must have been _something_ that stood out about this mysterious – and oddly wealthy – person. C'mon Celion," she wheedled, "all you have to do is draw me a pretty picture and then I'll leave. Just give me something to go on. No? Alrighty then. Hey, Mel, what rhymes with 'warlock'?"

"I –I'll do it!" Celion snatched up a pen and paper and started scribbling. "There!"

Billie took the scrap of paper he'd thrust at her and studied it. Melinda looked too. It was… pretty underwhelming. There was some kind of symbol there, possibly, but it could also have been a big ink smudge. Was it an upside down 'C' with a line through it? Or maybe a backwards 'Q'?

"What's that supposed to be?" Billie was obviously thinking along the same lines as Melinda. She turned the paper upside down, but it didn't make anything any clearer.

"A tattoo. Now can you _please_ go? If any of my clients see you here –"

"Tell me where it is and I'll leave."

"On the wrist," he admitted in a rush, coming around the table and making little shooing motions. "That's it, that's everything I can say, if I tell you anything else they'll –"

"Oh, stop being such a little drama queen," Billie waved away his hands and tugged Melinda to her feet. "Time to go, Mels. Celion, it's been a pleasure, as always."

"We're square now, right?" the warlock demanded, wringing his hands. "Right?"

"Right. Until the next time." Billie flashed him a sunny smile, then took Melinda's hand and led her from the room. Celion's muttered curses floated after them, until the door clanged shut.

* * *

><p>They'd be back in the attic for about five minutes when she felt it. It was like an explosion, only in the air rather than physical. The hairs on the back of Melinda's neck shot up and a violent shiver passed through her, leaving her feeling weak and unsteady. She dropped the Book and sat down quickly.<p>

Billie was beside her in an instant, stroking the hair back from her face. "What is it, Mels?"

"I…"

What was it? Why did she feel so lightheaded all of a sudden? Melinda clung to the feeling of Billie's warm hand against her skin and it helped her to focus.

"It's Chris," she whispered. "Something's happened. Something bad."


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Chris

**A/N: **And we've reached the milestone of 100 reviews! Thanks to everyone for their support and for sharing their feedback on this story so far. There have been some interesting thoughts about Melinda recently that I've taken on board, and those of you who aren't liking her so much I promise her chapters are leading somewhere. Also to the reviewer who said Piper and Leo didn't have a daughter in the TV show canon, you're right – she's from the comic canon, which officially continued the story from the TV show. I talk more about this in the AN from the first chapter.

This is probably one of my favourite chapters in the story, but was one of the hardest to write. Hopefully I've done it justice as this is the point where everything changes. I should probably also say that I'm aware there's some under-age behaviour in here and I hope no one is offended by it. It was just how I felt that character would deal with what has happened.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen: Chris<strong>

When the truth came, it came in a flash of broken images and half-remembered pain. Warren Trent's face, contorted in agony as the lightning lashed his skin. Jake Hawkins, flying through the air to smash against the wall, neck breaking with a dull snap. Austin West, screaming and screaming and screaming until he finally fell silent. And at the centre of it all: Chris Halliwell, hands blazing with power, eyes wide and wild, hair swirling in the updrafts of the miniature hurricane that surrounded him. The look on his face… satisfaction. Pleasure, even. His enemies lay defeated as his feet and he was _happy_.

Chris screamed, clawing at his head, trying to physically push the memories out. It didn't work and the trickle became a flood became a torrent, until that whole night played out in glorious technicolor. Swept up in the emotions, Chris finally let go and the lightning exploded out of him once again, scorching everything in its path. Pain blinded him and for a moment he hung in the air, a hundred thousand forces tearing through him, all jostling for position.

_I killed them_.

Chris's eyes snapped open and locked onto the pale, frightened face in front of him. _I'll kill you too_.

He threw his hands out, bolts of blue and white springing forth and smashing into the shimmering blue barrier. His enemy scrambled backwards, the barrier following him. He was shouting something, but Chris was beyond hearing. He tried again, first one hand and then the other, over and over until the man was on his knees and the shield began to show signs of stress. Laughing, Chris laid down the hammer blow, splintering the shield and knocking his opponent clear across the room. The scent of burning flesh reached him and he smiled.

The man struggled to his knees, holding his own hands up, palms outwards. Chris got a split second of warning in the form of shimmering golden light and then a wave of fire was rushing towards him. He threw himself to the ground, rolling, the blast missing him by millimetres. Pushing sweaty hair out of his eyes, he looked up to find the other witch watching him. The man looked stricken and some part of Chris wondered why even while he was using the distraction to retaliate. He wasn't quite quick enough; the bolts were about to hit his enemy when the man reacted, unleashing his own magic. The two powers met in an explosion of sparks and then held, neither advancing nor retreating, in perfect balance.

_No_, Chris thought savagely. _I have to finish this_. Reaching inside himself, he grasped all the power he had and aimed it at his enemy. The intensity of his lightning increased tenfold, smashing through the golden magic and hauling the other man up into the air. As the lightning pulsed into him, his mouth stilled and he grew limp, head lolling to the side as tears trickled down his cheeks. At the sight of these, Chris just grew angrier and he drew himself backed, poised to launch the final attack –

"_Stop it_!"

Startled by the interruption, Chris's concentration faltered along with his command of his magic, and his enemy dropped like a stone. A young girl had appeared out of the air in a swirl of blue and white orbs. Standing in the corner of the room, she took in the tableau with bewilderment.

"Wh-what's going on? You're s'posed to be training, but you're – that wasn't training, was it? You were fighting, for real! You were – you were _burning _him..." She took a few halting steps towards the downed man. "Mom and Dad said we should _never_ use our powers on each other – why would you…" She took another few steps and saw something that made her gasp and run to the man's side. "He's hurt – help me! Wyatt? Wyatt, wake up!" Chris watched dispassionately as she struggled to turn the man onto his back. "Chris, c'mon, Wyatt's hurt!"

Wyatt. Chris felt a surge of unexpected fury at the name, as if it should mean something to him.

"Why won't you help?" the girl demanded, looking up to see him still standing there. "I can't – I can't heal yet, _you_ have to – or Paige! Aunt Paige, come quick!" she shouted to the ceiling, before returning to shaking Wyatt's shoulders desperately. "Wyatt, _please_, you have to wake up!"

No one answered her call and despite the girl's best efforts, Wyatt remained motionless. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of weeping.

"Chris… what have you done?" the girl whispered hoarsely, raising her tear-streaked face, voice rising. "What have you done? _What have you done_?"

The accusation there – the utter horror – gave Chris pause.

"_You've killed him_!" she screamed, springing upright and running at him, arms swinging. Caught by surprised, Chris couldn't duck her blow and she knocked him back a few paces. "You've killed Wyatt just like you killed those boys. You're a _murderer_!"

She hit him again, but it was her words that really penetrated. A murderer. She'd called him a murderer. He'd known it, of course; he'd burned Warren, Austin and Jake to death. Why should Wyatt be any different?

_Because he's your brother_.

It was like a veil being lifted. All of the anger and hate drained away, leaving only regret and the hideous, hideous realisation that he'd done something terrible. Something he could never take back.

"What have I… oh God, Wyatt – _Wyatt –_"

"Stay away from him!" Melinda shouted, backing away until she became a physical shield between the brothers. The look on her face… it halted him more effectively than any of her words or actions could have. It was a look he'd seen before, on the occasions they'd been ambushed by demons during their childhood. A mixture of fear, loathing and hate. But it had never been directed at him before.

He held out a hand, not sure what he was going to say, but needing to say something. "I don't –"

Melinda recoiled. "Wyatt was wrong," she hissed. "You _are_ evil now."

"No, I just… you lied to me. _You all lied_!" Desperately he tried to justify it. "You said it was an explosion, but it wasn't! It was this – this," He flicked out his fingers in disgust, "this power. It came from inside _me_. I killed them – I burned them to death and _you all knew about _it, didn't you? That's why… that's why things have been so strange since I came out of the hospital – why you bound my powers and made me take these lessons with Wyatt –" Oh God, oh Wyatt – what had he done? "It's your fault – _it's all your fault_!"

He couldn't stand the accusation in Melinda's eyes, or the sight of the still form behind her. "You lied," he repeated hollowly. "You lied and I'm… I'm a murderer." The word tasted ashy. "A murderer. I'm only fifteen and I've killed three people." His gaze drifted back behind Melinda again and something inside him broke and all he could think about was getting away, away from all of this, away from the memories and the pain and the guilt.

Closing his eyes, he orbed blindly away.

* * *

><p>It wasn't hard to find an off-license with a distracted attendant. Chris didn't even have to use his magic; an argument had broken out and he used the opportunity to slip a couple of cans of beer under his arm, inside his jacket. On the way out he grabbed some cigarettes and a lighter for good measure.<p>

Cracking open one of the beers, he swigged it down, nearly gagging at the unfamiliar taste. He'd had punch before with definitely more than punch in it, but nothing as strong as this. Chris forced himself to swallow and half way through the second one, it was almost beginning to taste good.

By the time he crossed 98th, the alcohol had begun to work its magic and he was finally able to banish the image of Wyatt's still body from his head. Dropping the second empty can onto the ground, he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. The nicotine was stronger than he remembered and it burned the back of his throat.

"So they finally told you."

A shadow detached itself from the darkness and moved into the neon green light of the drug store he was passing. Bianca, glorious dark hair unbound and cascading over one shoulder, black leather jacket covering a tight white top. He should have been startled by her sudden appearance; should have been wondering what the hell she was doing here at this time of night and why she didn't seem surprised to see him, but he wasn't. It just… made sense somehow. His heart had begun to beat a little faster at the sight of her.

"Told me what?" he asked belligerently, taking another drag.

"That you killed those boys. Either that or your girlfriend dumped you, but… you don't have a girlfriend, so I'm going to go with my first guess."

Surprise surged through the alcohol induced fog. "How did you…?"

"You're interesting, Chris Halliwell." Bianca pulled out her own cigarette and leaned in, lighting it from the end of his. He found himself entranced by her dark red lips. "I've been keeping tabs on you for a while. And then that night…" She shook her head, a smile playing around her mouth. "Beautiful."

"You – you saw… you saw what I did?"

She blew a smoke ring with the practiced ease of someone used to doing so. "Like I said, I've been keeping tabs on you. Any descendent of the Charmed Ones is worthy of attention."

The cigarette dropped from Chris's nerveless fingers. "Who _are_ you?" he demanded, the alcohol giving a dangerous edge to his voice. He'd unconsciously shifted into a fighting stance.

It seemed to amuse her. "You're not the only one with special talents." She dropped her half-smoked cigarette on the ground. As Chris watched suspiciously, she held up a hand and conjured a shimmering energy ball that she proceeded to toss from hand to hand like a juggler. "See?"

An energy ball meant one thing: Bianca wasn't playing for Team Good.

The Chris of yesterday, still blissful in his ignorance, would have been immediately on the offensive, lashing out while hollering for back-up. The Chris of today sized up this beautiful, exciting, dangerous woman who knew too much and saw only an opportunity to lose himself further. He took a pace forward, then another, until they were barely a metre apart. "Pretty," he remarked, "but I've seen better."

Bianca smiled slowly. "I don't think so, little boy."

There was a distinct challenge there and Chris had never been one to resist those. "Anything you can do…" He pressed his hands together and when he pulled them apart again, lightning danced between them. Pain flared, but he embraced it, increasing the power until it spiralled out of control and burst up into the sky.

"Subtle," Bianca commented.

"Subtle's overrated."

"Well you'd know all about that. The lightshow that night…" She whistled. "Impressive work."

They were back to that. "I killed three people," Chris reminded her. Saying the words didn't hurt so much this time. He must be really drunk.

Bianca shrugged. "They deserved it. In fact, if you wished, you could argue self-defence. Not that you need to, of course. Not after Mommy and Daddy waved their hands and made everything go away. Did they mess with your memories too, or were you just suppressing them?"

"They wouldn't –" He broke off. Wouldn't they? They'd done just about everything else to keep the truth from him. He pulled the final beer free of his jacket, ripped the ring off and took a bitter swig of the beer. "They better not have."

"Parents always think they know what's best," Bianca scoffed. "I say they're wrong. I say we're old enough and powerful enough to make our own decisions."

"They should have told me," Chris agreed loudly. "They had no right to – to – to treat me like a baby."

"They're just holding you back," Bianca pressed, face suddenly intense. "Making you afraid of your own ability, afraid of what you did, like it was wrong somehow when really you were just protecting yourself. And isn't that what our powers are for?"

The alcohol was making it difficult to think clearly, but what she was saying spoke to something deep inside him. "They_ are_ holding me back," he realised blearily. "This whole – all this protecting, it's not protecting at all, it's just – holding me back."

"They're jealous." Bianca told him, reaching out a stroking a finger down his cheek. "They don't appreciate the beauty of what you can do. But _I_ do, Chris. I saw it and… it was magnificent. _You _were magnificent."

Magnificent. Chris kind of liked the sound of that. And her dark eyes were so close to his… "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Her finger dipped under his chin, tracing his Adam's apple. He gulped reflexively. "You know, we always thought that _Wyatt_ was the special one. The Twice-Blessed child."

Guilt, thick and choking, surged through him, but was eclipsed by the wave of bitterness that followed. The suggestion that Bianca thought Wyatt was special made him feel ill. Even now, everything was always about his golden older brother.

"But we were wrong, Chris. And I knew that the moment I saw your power. _You're the_ special one."

"I'm… special?" Wait, Bianca thought _he _was special – not Wyatt?

Bianca laughed, rich and throaty. "Of course! Your potential – it's amazing. You can be far stronger than your brother, believe me."

To be stronger than Wyatt… the idea was exciting, intoxicating even.

"Don't you want to show them all? Your parents and your family – show them how strong you can really be? Show them that you're not a child?"

Her finger had reached the neck of his shirt now and she played with the material, tugging him a little closer. "Yeah," he breathed, staring at her lips. "Yeah, I want that."

"I can help you. All you have to do is come with me."

His heart was beating so loud it was echoing in his head, like a giant drum. "Where would we go?"

"Some friends of mine are desperate to meet you; friends who believe in the power and beauty of magic, who aren't afraid to embrace it." She tilted her head to one side, lips inches from Chris's. As she closed the distance between them, she murmured, "Would you like to come with me?"

"Chris!"

The call came from behind them. He looked up at Bianca, but she was staring over his shoulder, a frown marring her beautiful face. He twisted around to see his mom and aunts standing a couple of metres away. Aunt Paige was in the centre, her sisters' hands in hers, hair all mussed up as if she'd got here in a hurry; Aunt Phoebe was paled-faced and worried, with that distracted look in her eyes that showed she was reaching out with her empathy and Mom… Mom was taking it all in: Bianca, the beer can in his hand, the cigarette butts on the floor. Predictably, her already dark expression darkened further.

"I don't know who the hell you are, but you want to get away from my son, _right_ now," she hissed. It took Chris a moment to realise she was speaking to Bianca.

Bianca drew herself up. "I think your son can choose for himself." She touched his cheek gently. "Chris? Do you want me to leave?"

"No," he blurted, breathing in her scent. Bianca was – she was… he couldn't let her go. Not now.

"The boy has spoken," Bianca told Mom coolly. "Perhaps it's _you_ who should leave."

"You either have no idea who I am or you're really stupid," Mom shot back. "I'm –"

"Piper Halliwell. Eldest of the Charmed Ones. Married to Leo Wyatt, former Whitelighter, among other things. Mother of Wyatt, Melinda and… Chris." She paused. "Stop me if I've missed anything important."

Mom looked nonplussed for a moment, but recovered quickly. "Clever. But if you know so much about me then you'll know that standing between me and my child is a _really_ bad idea." Her gaze moved onto to Chris and her tough expression wavered. "Honey, I'm so sorry you had to find out like that, believe me, but we were just trying to protect you. What happened was – it was horrible, but it _wasn't_ your fault and we knew you'd blame yourself –"

"I don't want to talk to you," Chris interrupted, his temper flaring. After everything they'd done, how dare his mom stand there and try and justify it? "You _lied_ to me."

Mom hesitated. "Sweetie, please, just – just come here, okay? Come with us and we'll talk about it – we'll tell you anything you want to know. We want to help you, Chris."

He laughed in her face. It was just so – so ludicrous. "You don't want to help me! You want to chain me up and bind my powers. Bianca's the only one who really wants to help me."

"Bianca?" Aunt Paige's head jerked up and she peered into the darkness. "Bianca… hmm, haven't we met a Bianca before?"

Piper was too intent on her son to notice. "Chris, please, I don't know what this woman's told you, but –"

"She told me the truth!" Chris shouted, tossing the half-full beer can aside. "And she's the only one who has done, so why… why shouldn't I listen to her?" He reached out and grabbed Bianca's hand. "Let's go."

Her smile told him he'd done the right thing. "Give me a lift?"

"Chris!"

"Piper, let me –" Aunt Phoebe stepped forward. "Chris, honey, I know you're hurting right now, but if you just come back home with us then we can sort all this out."

Chris hesitated. Aunt Phoebe's voice was calm and soothing. He found himself listening carefully to her words, _really_ listening, and maybe, just maybe she had a point. He took a few steps towards her. Yeah, maybe he _should_ go home with his family –

Bianca's grip on his hand tightened painfully, and he came to his sense with a bump. "Stay out of my head!" Without thinking, Chris lashed out and a bolt of lightning blasted along the alley. If Aunt Paige hadn't pulled Aunt Phoebe out of the way, it would have hit her.

He saw the shock on his aunts' faces as they picked themselves up off the ground, heard his mother shouting his name, but he didn't care. They'd brought all of this on themselves and they were trying to stop him from going with Bianca. She was the one bright light in all of this and there was no way he was going to let them get in his way.

"Ready?" he asked Bianca.

"Always."

As Chris commanded his powers to transport them away, Bianca pulled his face down to hers and kissed him, obscuring the fact that the usually bright and cheery orbs were now tinged with black.


	17. Author's Note: Sequel

**Author's Note**

Hi guys! No, this isn't a new chapter, it's just a quick author's note to say that I've decided to end "Out of the Ashes" at this point and continue the story in a sequel. I hadn't planned to do this, but the story is getting longer and longer, and this felt like a natural time to split it. Also all of you Melinda haters will be pleased to know that for the sequel I will only be writing from Wyatt and Chris's perspectives ;)

The sequel is called "Into the Flames" and I've just posted the first chapter. You can find it from my profile.

Thanks for all your reviews and support and I hope you'll continue to follow my writing!

Note: I'm be taking this author's note down in a couple of weeks as I'm not a fan of having them as a chapter in a story.


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